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9 


EVELINA 

OB, 

THE HISTORY 


OP A 


Y0Ui\G LADY’S INTRODUCTIOxX TO THE WORLD. 


BY MISS BUKKEY. 

(madaaie d’akblay.) 

AUTHOR OF “OEOILIA,” ETC. 


NEW YORK: 

DERBY & JACKSON, 119 NASSAU STREET. 
1857. 






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W, H. Tinson, Stereoiyper. 


Geobob Russell A Co., Printer. 



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0, AtTTHOR of my being ! — far more dear 
To me than light, than nourishment, or rest, 

Hygeia’s blessings, rapture’s burning tear, 

Or the life-blood that mantles in my breast t 

If in my heart the love of virtue glows, 

’Twas planted there by an unerring rule ; 

From thy example the pure dame arose. 

Thy life, my precept ; thy good works, my school. 

Could my weak powers thy numerous virtues trace. 
By filial love each fear should be repressed ; 

The blush of incapacity I’d chase. 

And stand recorder of thy worth confessed. 

But, since my niggard stars that gift refuse. 
Concealment is the only boon I claim ; 

Obscure be still the unsuccessful muse 
Who cannot raise, but would not sink, thy fame. 

Oh I of my life at once the source and joy ! 

If e’er thy eyes these feeble lines survey, 

Let not their folly their intent destroy ; — 

Accept the tribute — but forget the lay. 


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TO THE AUTHORS 


OF THB 

MONTHLY AND CRITICAL REVIEWS. 


Gentlemen, 

The liberty which I take in addressing to you the trifling 
production of a few idle hours will doubtless move your wonder 
and probably your contempt. I will not, however, with the 
futility of apologies, intrude upon your time, but briefly acknow- 
ledge the motives of my temerity ; lest by a premature exercise 
of that patience which I hope will befriend me, I should lessen 
its benevolence and be accessory to my own condemnation. 

Without name, without recommendation, and unknown alike 
to success and disgrace, to whom can I so properly apply 
for patronage as to those who publicly profess themselves inspec- 
tors of all literary performances ? 

The extensive plan of your critical observations, — which, not 
confined to works of utility or ingenuity, is equally open to those 
of frivolous amusement, and yet worse than frivolous, dullness, — 
encourages me to seek for your protection, since, perhaps for my 
sins ! — it entitles me to your annotations. To resent, therefore 
this offering, however insignificant, would ill become the univer- 


VI 


DEDICATION. 


sality of your undertaking ; though not to despise it may, alas ! 
be out of your power. 

The language of adulation and the incense of flattery, though 
the natural inheritance and constant resource from time imme- 
morial of the dedicator, to me offer nothing but the wistful re- 
gret that I dare not invoke their aid. Sinister views would be 
imputed to all I could say ; since, thus situated, to extol your 
judgment would seem the effe(;t of art, and to celebrate your 
impartiality be attributed to suspecting it. 

As magistrates of the press and censors for the public — to 
which you are bound by the sacred ties of integrity to exert the 
most spirited impartiality, and to which your suffrages should 
carry the marks of pure, dauntless, irrefragable truth, — to appeal 
for your mercy were to solicit your dishonour ; and therefore, 
though ’tis sweeter than frankincense, more grateful to the senses 
than all the odorous perfumes of Arabia, and though 

It droppeth like the gentle rain from Heaven 
Upon the place beneath, — 

I court it not ! To your justice alone I am entitled, and by that 
I must abide. Your engagements are not to the supplicating 
authors, but to the candid public, which will not fail to crave 

The penalty and forfeit of your bond. 

No hackneyed writer inured to abuse and callous to criticism 
here braves your severity, neither does a half-starved gar- 
reteer, 

Obliged by hunger and request of friends, 

implore your lenity ; your examination will be alike unbiassed by 
partiality and prejudice ; no refractory murmuring will follow 
your censure ; no private interest be gratified by your praise. 

Let not the anxious solicitude with which T recommend myself 


DEDICATION. 


VII 


to your notice expose me to your derision. Remember, gen- 
tlemen, you were all young writers once, and the most expe- 
rienced veteran of your corps may, by recollecting his first pub- 
lication, renovate his first terrors, and learn to allow for mine. 
For though courage is one of the noblest virtues of this nether 
sphere ; and though scarcely more requisite in the field of bat- 
tle to guard the fighting hero from disgrace, than in the private 
commerce of the world to ward off that littleness of soul which 
leads by steps imperceptible to all the base train of the inferior - 
passions, and by which the too timid mind is betrayed into a 
servility derogatory to the dignity of human nature ; — yet is it a 
virtue of no necessity in a situation such as mine, — a situation 
which removes, even from cowardice itself, the sting of ignominy ; 
for surely that courage may easily be dispensed with which 
would rather excite disgust than admiration. Indeed, it is the 
peculiar privilege of an author to rob terror of contempt and 
pusillanimity of reproach. 

Here let me rest^ and snatch myself while I yet am able from 
the fascination of egotism, — a monster who has more votaries 
than ever did homage to the most popular deity of antiquity, and 
whose singular quality is that while he excites a blind and in- 
voluntary adoration in almost every individual, his influence is 
universally disallow^ed, his power universally contemned, and his 
worship, even by his followers, never mentioned but with abhor- 
rence. 

In addressing you jointly, I mean but to mark the generous 
sentiments by which liberal criticism, to the utter annihilation of 
envy, jealousy, and all selfish vievs, ought to be distinguished. 

I have the honour to be, gentlemen. 

Your most obedient, humble servant, 






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PREFACE 




In the republic of letters there is no member of such inferior 
rank, or who is so much disdained by his brethren of the quill, 
as the humble novelist ; nor is his fate less hard in the world at 
large, since, among the whole class of writers, perhaps, not one 
can be named of which the votaries are more numerous, but less 
respectable. 

Yet, while in the annals of those few of our predecessors to 
whom this species of writing is indebted' for being saved from 
contempt and rescued from depravity, we can trace such names 
as Rousseau, Johnson,* Marivaux, Fielding, Richardson, and 
Smollett, no man need blush at starting from the same post ; 
though many, nay, most men, may sigh at finding themselves 
distanced. 

The following letters are presented to the public — for such by 
novel-writers novel-readers will be called — with a very singular 


* However superior the capacities in which these great writers deserve to be con- 
sidered, they must pardon me, that for the dignity of my subject I here rank the authors 
of Rasselas and Eloise as novelists. 


1 * 


ix 


X 


PREFACE. 


mixture of timidity and confidence resulting from the peculiar 
situation of the editor, who, though trembling for their success 
from a consciousness of their imperfections, yet fears not being 
involved in their disgrace while happily wrapped up in a mantle 
of impenetrable obscurity. 

To draw characters from nature, though not from life, and to 
mark the manners of the times, is the attempted plan of the fol- 
lowing letters. For this purpose, a young female educated in 
the most secluded retirement makes, at the age of seventeen, her 
first appearance upon the great and busy stage of life, with a 
virtuous mind, a cultivated understanding, and a feeling heart ; 
her ignorance of the forms and inexperience in the manners of 
the world occasion all the little incidents which these volumes 
record, and which form the natural progression of the life of a 
young woman of obscure birth, but conspicuous beauty, for the 
six months after her entrance into the world. 

Perhaps, were it possible to eflfect the total extirpation of 
novels, our young ladies in general, and boarding-school damsels 
in particular, might profit from their annihilation ; but since the 
distemper they have spread seems incurable, since their con- 
tagion bids defiance to the medicine of advice or reprehension, 
and since they are found to bafiSe all the mental art of physic 
save what is prescribed by the slow regimen of time, and bitter 
diet of experience, surely all attempts to contribute to the num- 
ber of those which may be read, if not with advantage, at least 
without injury, ought rather to be encouraged than contemned. 

Let me, therefore, prepare for disappointment those who in 
the perusal of these sheets entertain the gentle expectation of 
being transported to the fantastic regions of romance, where 
fiction is coloured by all the gay tints of luxurious imagination, 
where reason is an outcast, and where the sublimity of the mar- 


PREFACE. 


XI 


vellous rejects all aid from sober probability. The heroine of 
these memoirs, young, artless, and inexperienced, is 

No faultless monster that the world ne’er saw; 

but the ofispring of Nature, and of Nature in her simplest attire. 

In all the arts, the value of copies can only be proportioned to 
the scarcity of originals ; among sculptors and painters, a fine 
statue or a beautiful picture of some great master may de- 
servedly employ the imitative talents of young and inferior 
artists, that their appropriation to one spot may not wholly pre- 
vent the more general expansion of their excellence ; but among 
authors the reverse is the case, since the noblest productions of 
literature are almost equally attainable with the meanest. In 
books, therefore, imitation cannot be shunned too sedulously ; 

for the very perfection of a model which is frequently seen serves 

\ 

but more forcibly to mark the inferiority of a copy. 

To avoid what is common, without adopting what is un- 
natural, must limit the ambition of the vulgar herd of authors ; 
however zealous, therefore, my veneration of the great writers I 
have mentioned, however I may feel myself enlightened by the 
knowledge of Johnson, charmed with the eloquence of Rousseau, 
softened by the pathetic powers of Richardson, and exhilarated 
by the wit of Fielding and humour of Smollett, I yet presume 
not to attempt pursuing the same ground which they have 
tracked, whence, though they may have cleared the weeds, they 
have also culled the flowers ; and though they have rendered the 
path plain, they have left it barren. 

The candour of my readers I have not the impertinence to 
doubt, and to their indulgence I am sensible I have no claim ; I 
have, therefore, only to entreat that my own words may not pro- 


xii 


PREFACE. 


nounce my condemnation, and that what I have here ventured 
to say in regard to imitation may be understood, as it is meant, 
in a general sense, and not to be imputed to an opinion of my 
own originality, which I have not the vanity, the folly, or the 
blindness to entertain. 

Whatever may be the fate of these letters, the editor is 
satisfied they will meet with justice ; and commits them to the 
press, though hopeless of fame, yet not regardless of censure. 


E V E I. I N- iL 


LETTER I. 

Lady Howard to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 

. Howard Grove, Kent. 

Can any thing, my good sir, be more painful to a friendly 
mind than a necessity of communicating disagreeable intelli- 
gence ? Indeed, it is sometimes difficult to determine whether 
the relater or the receiver of evil tidings is most to be pitied. 

I have just had a letter from Madame Duval ; she is totally at 
a loss in what manner to behave ; she seems desirous to repair 
the wrongs she has done, yet wishes the world to believe her 
blameless. She would fain cast upon another the odium of 
those misfortunes for which she alone is answerable. Her letter 
is violent, sometimes abusive, and that of you / — yow, to whom 
she is under obligations which are greater even than her faults, 
but to whose advice she wickedly imputes all the sufferings of 
her much injured daughter, the late Lady Belmont. The chief 
purport of her writing I will acquaint you with; the letter itself 
is not worthy of your notice. 

She tells me that she has for many years past been in con- 
tinual expectation of making a journey to England, which pre- 
vented her writing for information concerning this melancholy 

13 


14 


EVELINA. 


subject, by giving her hopes of making personal inquiries ; but 
family occurrences have still detained her in France, vphich 
country she now sees no prospect of quitting. She has, there- 
fore, lately used her utmost endeavours to obtain a faithful 
account of whatever related to her ill-advised daughter ; the 
result of which giving her some reason to apprehend that, upon 
her death-bed, she bequeathed an infant orphan to the world, 
she most graciously says, that if you^ with whom she understands 
the child is placed, will procure authentic proofs of its relation- 
ship to her, you may send it to Paris, where she will properly 
provide for it. 

This w'oman is undoubtedly, at length, self-convicted of her 
most unnatural behaviour : it is evident from her writing that 
she is still as vulgar and illiterate as when her first husband, Mr. 
Evelyn, had the weakness to marry her ; nor does she at all 
apologize for addressing herself to me, though I was only once 
in her company. 

Her letter has excited in my daughter Mirvan a strong desire 
to be informed of the motives which induced Madame Duval to 
abandon the unfortunate Lady Belmont at a time when a 
mother’s protection was peculiarly necessary for her peace and 
her reputation. Notwithstanding I was personally acquainted 
with all the parties concerned in that affair, the subject always 
appeared of too delicate a nature to be spoken of with the prin- 
cipals ; I cannot, therefore, satisfy Mrs. Mirvan otherwise than by 
applying to you. 

By saying that you may send the child, Madame Duval aims 
at conferring where she most owes obligation. I pretend not to 
give you advice ; you, to whose generous protection this helpless 
orphan is indebted for every thing, are the best and only judge 
of what she ought to do ; but I am much concerned at the 
trouble and uneasiness which this unworthy woman may occa- 
sion you. 

My daughter and my grandchild join with me in desiring to 
be most kindly remembered to the amiable girl, and they bid 
me remind you, that the annual visit to Howard Grove, which 


EVELINA. 


15 


we were formerly promised, ha^ been discontinued for more than 
four years. 

I am, dear sir, with great regard. 

Your most obedient friend and servant, 

M. Howard. 


LETTER II. 

Mr. Villars to Lady Howard. • 

Berry Hill, Dorsetshire. 

Your ladyship did but too well foresee the perplexity and 
uneasiness of which Madame Duval’s letter has been productive. 
However, I ought rather- to be thankful that I have so many 
years remained unmolested, than repine at any present embar- 
rassment, since it proves, at least, that this wretched woman is at 
length awakened to remorse. 

In regard to ray answer, I must humbly request your ladyship 
to write to this effect : that I would not upon any account inten- 
tionally offend Madame Duval ; but that I have weighty, nay, 
unanswerable reasons for detaining her granddaughter at present 
in England; the principal of which is, that it was the earnest 
desire of one to whose will she owes implicit duty. Madame 
Duval may be assured that she meets with the utmost atten- 
tion and tenderness ; that her education, however short of 
my wishes, almost exceeds my abilities ; and I flatter myself, 
when the time arrives that she shall pay her duty to her grand- 
mother, Madame Duval will find no reason to be dissatisfied with 
what has been done for her. 

Your ladyship will not, I am sure, be surprised at this answer. 
Madame Duval is by no means a proper companion or guardian 
for a young woman ; she is at once uneducated and unprincipled ; 
ungentle in temper, and unaraiable in her manners. I have long 
known that she has persuaded herself to harbour an aversion for 
me. Unhappy woman ! I can only regard her as an object of 
pity ! 


16 


EVELINA. 


I dare not hesitate at a request from Mrs. Mirvan ; yet, in com- 
plying with it, I shall, for her own sake, be as concise as I 
possibly can ; since the cruel transactions which preceded the 
birth of my ward can afibrd no entertainment to a mind so 
humane as hers. 

Your ladyship may probably have heard, that I had the honor 
to accompany Mr. Evelyn, the grandfather of my young charge, 
when upon his travels, in the capacity of a tutor. His unhappy 
marriage, immediately upon his return to England, with Madame 
Duval, then a Waiting-girl at a tavern, contrary to the advice 
and entreaties of ail his friends, among whom I was myself the 
most urgent, induced him to abandon his native land, and fix his 
abode in France. Thither he was followed by shame and 
repentance — feelings which his heart was not framed to support ; 
for, notwithstanding he had been too weak to resist the allure- 
ments of beauty, which nature, though a niggard to her of every 
other boon, had with a lavish hand bestowed on his wife ; yet he 
was a young man of excellent character, and, till thus unaccount- 
ably infatuated, of unblemished conduct. .He survived this ill- 
judged marriage but two years. Upon his death-bed, with an 
unsteady hand, he wrote me the following note : — 

“ My friend, forget your resentment, in favour of your huma- 
nity ; — a father, trembling for the welfare of his child, bequeathes 
her to your care. — 0 Villars! hear! pity! and relieve me!” 

Had my circumstances permitted me, I should have answered 
these words by an immediate journey to Paris; but I was obliged 
to act by the agency of a friend, who was upon the spot, and 
present at the opening of the will. 

Mr. Evelyn left to me a legacy of a thousand pounds, and the 
sole guardianship of his daughter’s person till her eighteenth 
year, conjuring me, in the most affecting terms, to take the 
charge of her education till she was able to act with propriety for 
herself; but, in regard to fortune, he left her wholly dependent 
on her mother, to whose tenderness he earnestly recommended 
her. 

Thus, though he would not, to a woman low-bred and illiberal 


EVELINA. 


17 


as Mrs. Evelyn, trust the conduct and morals of his daughter, he 
nevertheless thought proper to secure to her the respect and duty 
which, from her own child, were certainly her due ; but, unhap- 
pily, it never occurred to him that the mother, on her part, could 
fail in affection or justice. 

Miss Evelyn, madam, from the second to the eighteenth year 
of her life, was brought up under my care, and, except when at 
school, under ray roof. I need not speak to your ladyship of the 
virtues of that excellent young creature. She loved me as her 
father; nor was Mrs. Villars less valued by her; while tome 
she became so dear, that her loss was little less afflicting than 
that which I have since sustained of Mrs. Villars herself. 

At that period of ber life we parted ; her mother, then married 
to Monsieur Duval, sent for her to Paris. ' How often have I 
since regretted that I did not accompany her thither ! Protected 
and supported by me, the misery and disgrace which awaited 
her might perhaps have been avoided. But, to be brief — Madame 
Duval, at the instigation of her husband, earnestly, or rather 
tyrannically, endeavoured to effect a union between Miss Evelyn 
and one of his nephews. And when she found her power inade- 
quate to her attempt, enraged at her non-compliance, she treated 
her with the grossest unkindness, and threatened her with 
poverty and ruin. 

Miss Evelyn, to whom wrath and violence had hitherto been 
strangers, soon grew weary of such usage, and rashly, and with- 
out a witness, consented to a private marriage with Sir John 
Belmont, a very profligate young man, who had but too success- 
fully found means to insinuate himself into her favour. He pro- 
mised to conduct her to England — he did. — 0, madam, you know 
the rest !— Disappointed of the fortune he expected, by the 
inexorable rancour of the Duvals, he infamously burnt the cer- 
tificate of their marriage, and denied that they had ever been 
united. 

She flew to me for protection. With what mixed transports 
of joy and anguish did I again see her ! By my advice she 


18 


EVELINA. 


endeavoured to procure proofs of her marriage — but in vain ; her 
credulity had been no match for his art. 

Everybody believed her innocent, from the guiltless tenor of 
her unspotted youth, and from the known libertinism of her bar- 
barous betrayer. Yet her sufferings were too acute for her tender 
frame ; and the same moment that gave birth to her infant put an 
end at once to the sorrows and the life of its mother. 

The rage of Madame Duval at her elopement abated not while 
this injured victim of cruelty yet drew breath. She probably 
intended in time to have pardoned her ; but time was not allowed. 
When she was informed of her death, I have been told that the 
agonies of grief and remorse with which she was seized occa- 
sioned her a severe fit of illness. But from the time of her recovery 
to the date of her letter to your ladyship, I had never heard that 
she manifested any desire to be made acquainted with the 
circumstances which attended the death of Lady Belmont, and 
the birth of her helpless child. 

That child, madam, shall never, while life is lent me, know the 
loss she has sustained. I have cherished, succoured, and sup- 
ported her from her earliest infancy to her sixteenth year ; and 
so amply has she repaid my care and affection, that my fondest 
wish is now circumscribed by the desire of bestowing her on one 
who may be sensible of her worth, and then sinking to eternal 
rest in her arms. 

Thus it has happened, that the education of the father, 
daughter, and granddaughter has devolved on me? What 
infinite misery have the first two caused me ! Should the fate 
of the dear survivor be equally adverse, how wretched will be 
the end of my cares — the end of my days ! 

Even had Madame Duval merited the charge she claims, I fear 
my fortitude would have been unequal to such a parting ; but, 
being such as she is, not only my affection, but my humanity 
recoils at the barbarous idea of deserting the sacred trust 
reposed in me. Indeed, I could but ill support her former 
yearly visits to the respectable mansion at Howard Grove; 


EVELINA. 


19 


pardon me, dear madam, and do not think me insensible of the 
honour which your ladyship’s condescension confers upon us 
both ; but so deep is the impression which the misfortunes of her 
mother have made on my heart, that she does not, even for a 
moment, quit my sight, without exciting apprehensions and 
terrors which almost overpower me. Such, madam, is my ten- 
derness, and such my weakness ! — But she is the only tie I have 
upon earth, and I trust to your ladyship’s goodness not to judge 
of ray feelings with severity. 

I beg leave to present my humble respects to Mrs. and Miss 
Mirvan ; and have the honour to be. 

Madam, your ladyship’s most obedient 
and most humble servant, 

Arthur Villars. 


LETTER III. 


[Written some months after the last.] 


Lady Howard to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 

Howard Grove, March 8. 

Dear and Rev. Sir : 

Your last letter gave me infinite pleasure : after so long 
and tedious an illness, how grateful to yourself and to your 
friends must be your returning health ! You have the hearty 
wishes of every individual of this place for its continuance and 
increase. 

Will you not think I take advantage of your acknowledged 
recovery, if I once more venture to mention your pupil and 
Howard Grove together ? Yet you must remember the patience 
with which wo submitted to your desire of not parting with her 
during the bad state of your health, though it was with much 
reluctance we forbear to solicit her company. My granddaughter, 
in particular, has scarce been able to repress her eagerness to 
meet again the friend of her infancy ; and, for my own part, 


20 


EVELINA. 


it is very strongly my wish to manifest the regard I had for the 
unfortunate Lady Belmont, by proving serviceable to her child ; 
whicL seems to me the best respect that can be paid to her 
memory. Permit me, therefore, to lay before you a plan which 
Mrs. Mirvan and I had formed, in conseqence of your restoration 
to health. 

I would not frighten you ; — but do you think you could bear 
to part with your young companion for two or three months ? 
Mrs. Mirvan proposes to spend the ensuing spring in London, 
whither, for the first time, my grandchild will accompany her. 
Now, my good friend, it is very earnestly their wish to enlarge 
and enliven their party by the addition of your amiable ward, 
who would share, equally with her own daughter, the care and 
attention of Mrs. Mirvan. Do not start at this proposal : it is 
time that she should see something of the world. When young 
people are too rigidly sequestered from it, their lively and roman- 
tic imaginations paint it to them as a paradise of which thev 
have been beguiled ; but when they are shown it properly, and 
in due time, they see it such as it really is, equally shared by 
pain and pleasure, hope and disappointment. 

You have nothing to apprehend from her meeting with Sir 
John Belmont, as that abandoned man is now abroad, and not 
expected home this year. 

Well, my good sir, what say you to our scheme? I hope it 
will meet with your approbation ; but if it should not, be assured 
I can never object to any decision of one who is so much re- 
spected and esteemed as Mr. Villars, by 

His most faithful, humble servant, 

M. Howard. 


EVELINA. 


21 


LETTER IV. 

Mr. Villars to Lady Howard. 


Berry Hill, March IS. 

I AM grieved, madam, to appear obstinate, and I blush to incur 
the imputation of selfishness. In detaining my young charge 
thus long with myself in the country, I consulted not solely my 
own inclination. Destined, in all probability, to possess a very 
moderate fortune, I wished to contract her views to something 
within it. The mind is but too naturally prone to pleasure, but 
too easily yielded to dissipation : it has been my study to guard 
her against their delusions, by preparing her to expect — and to 
despise them. But the time draws on for experience and obser- 
vation to take place of instruction. If I have, in some measure, 
rendered her capable of using one with discretion, and making 
the other with improvement, I shall rejoice myself with the as- 
surance of having largely contributed to her welfare. She is 
now of an age that happiness is eager to attend, — let her then 
enjoy it ! I commit her to the protection of your ladyship, and 
only hope she may be found worthy half the goodness I am sat- 
isfied she will meet with at your hospitable mansion. 

Thus far, madam, I cheerfully submit to your desire. In con- 
fiding my ward to the care of Lady Howard, I can feel no un- 
easiness from her absence but what will arise from the loss of her 
company, since I shall be as well convinced of her safety as if 
she were under my own roof. — But can your ladyship be seri- 
ous in proposing to introduce her to the gayeties of a London 
life ? Permit me to ask, for what end, or for what purpose ? A 
youthful mind is seldom totally free from ambition; to curb 
that is the first step to contentment, since to diminish expecta- 
tion is to increase enjoyment. I apprehend nothing more than 
too much raising her hopes and her views, which the natural 
vivacity of her disposition would render but too easy to effect. 
The town acquaintance of Mrs. Mirvan are all in the circle of 


22 


EVELTKA. 


high life. This artless young creature, with too much beauty to 
escape notice, has too much sensibility to be indifferent to it ; but 
she has too little wealth to be sought with propriety by men of 
the fashionable world. 

Consider, madam, the peculiar cruelty of her situation. Only 
child of a wealthy baronet, whose person she has never seen, 
whose character she has reason to abhor, and whose name she 
is forbidden to claim ; entitled as she is to lawfully inherit 
his fortune and estate, is there any probability that he will ^ro- 
perly own her ? And while he continues to persevere in disa- 
vowing his marriage with Miss Evelyn, she shall never, at the 
expense of her mother’s honour, receive a part of her right as 
the donation of his bounty. And as to Mr. Evelyn’s estate, I 
have no doubt but that Madame Duval and her relations will dis- 
pose of it among themselves. 

It seems, therefore, as if this deserted child, though legally 
heiress of two large fortunes, must owe all her rational expectations 
to adoption and friendship. Yet her income will be such as may 
make her happy, if she is disposed to be so, in private life ; 
though it will by no means allow her to enjoy the luxury of a 
London fine lady. 

Let Miss Mirvan, then, madam, shine in all the splendour of 
high life ; but suffer my child still to enjoy the pleasures of 
humble retirement, with a mind to which greater views are un- 
known. 

I hope this reasoning will be honoured with your approbation : 
and I have yet another motive which has some weight with me ; 
I would not willingly give offence to any human being ; and 
surely Madam Duval might accuse me of injustice, if, while I re- 
fuse to let her granddaughter wait upon her, I consent that she 
should join a party of pleasure to London. 

In sending her to Howard Grove, not one of these scruples 
arises ; and therefore Mrs. Clinton, a most worthy woman, for- 
merly her nurse, and now my housekeeper, shall attend her 
thither next week. 

Though I have always called her by the name of Anville, and 


EVELINA. 


23 


reported in this neighbourhood that her father, my intimate 
friend, left her to my guardianship ; yet I have thought it neces- 
sary she should herself be acquainted with the melancholy cir- 
cumstances attending her birth ; for though I am very desirous 
of guarding her from curiosity and impertinence by concealing 
her name, family and story, yet I would not leave it in the power 
of chance to shock her gentle nature with a tale of so much 
sorrow. 

You must not, madam, expect too much from my pupil : she 
is quite a little rustic, and knows nothing of the world ; and 
though her education has been the best I could bestow in this 
retired place, from which Dorchester, the nearest town, is seven 
miles distant, yet I shall not be surprised if you should discover 
in her a thousand deficiencies of which I have never dreamed. 
She must be very much altered since she was last at Howard 
Grove. — But I will say nothing of her ; I leave her to your lady- 
ship’s own observation, of which I beg a faithful relation ; and 
am. 

Dear mad am j with great respect, 

Your obedient and most humble servant, 

Arthur Villars. 


LETTER V. 

Mr. Villars to Lady Howard. 


March 18. 

Dear Madam: 

This letter will be delivered to you by my child, — the 
child of my adoption, my affection ! Unblest with one natural 
friend she merits a thousand. I send her to you innocent as an 
angel, and artless as purity itself; and I send you with her the 
heart of your friend, the only hope he has on earth, the subject 
of his tenderest thoughts, and the object of his latest cares. She 
is one, madam, for whom alone I have lately wished to live ; and 


24 


EVELINA. 


she is one whom to serve I would with transport die ! Restore 
her but to me all innocence as you receive her, and the fondest 
hope of my heart will be amply gratified. 

A. ViLLARS. 


LETTER VI. 

Lady Howard to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 

Howard Grove. 

Dear and Rev. Sir : 

The solemn manner in which you have committed your 
child to my care has in some measure damped the pleasure 
which I receive from the trust, as it makes me fear that you suf- 
fer from your compliance ; in which case I shall very sincerely 
blame myself for the earnestness with which I have requested 
this favour : but remember, rny good sir, she is within a few da vs 
summons ; and be assured, I will not detain her a moment longer 
than you wish. 

You desire my opinion of her. 

She is a little angel ! I cannot wonder that you sought to 
monopolize her : neither ought you, at finding it impossible. 

Her face and person answer my most refined ideas of complete 
beauty : and this, though a subject of praise less important to 
you or to me than any other, is yet so striking, it is not possible 
to pass it unnoticed. Had I not known from Vkom she received 
her education, I should, at first sight of so perfect a face, have 
been in pain for her understanding: since it has been long 
and justly remarked that folly has ever sought alliance with 
beauty. 

She has the same gentleness in her manners, the same natural 
graces in her motions, that I formerly so much admired in her 
mother. Her character seems truly ingenuous and simple ; and 
at the same time that nature has blessed her with an excellent 
understanding and great quickness of parts, she has a certain 


EVELINA. 


25 


air of inexperience and innocency that is extremely interest- 
ing. 

You have no reason to regret the retirement in which she has 
lived ; since that politeness which is acquired by an acquaint- 
ance with high life is in her so well supplied by a natural desire 
of obliging, joined to a deportment infiintely engaging. 

I observe, with great satisfaction, a growing affection between 
this amiable girl and my granddaughter, whose heart is as free 
from selfishness or conceit as that of her young friend is from all 
guile. Their regard may be mutually useful, since much is to be 
expected from emulation where nothing is to be feared from envy. 
I would have them love each other as sisters, and reciprocally 
supply the place of that tender and happy relationship to which 
neither of them has a natural claim. 

Be satisfied, my good sir, that your child shall meet with the 
same attention as our own. We all join in most hearty wishes 
for your health and happiness, and in returning our sincere 
thanks for the favour you have conferred on us. I am, dear 
sir. 

Your most faithful servant, 

M. Howard. 


LETTER VIT. 

Lady Howard to the Rev: Mr. Villars, 

Howard Grove, March 26. 

Be not alarmed, my worthy friend, at my so speedily troubling 
you again ; I seldom use the ceremony of waiting for answers, or 
writing with any regularity, and I have at present immediate 
occasion for begging your patience. 

Mrs. Mirvan has just received a letter from her long-absent 
husband, containing the welcome news of his hoping to reach 
London by the beginning of next week. My daughter and the 
captain have been separated almost seven years, and it would 
therefore be needless to say what joy, surprise and consequently 

2 


26 


EVELINA. 


confusion his at present unexpected return has caused at Howard 
Grove. Mrs. Mirvan, you cannot doubt, will go instantly to town 
to meet him : her daughter is under a thousand obligations to 
attend her : I grieve that her mother cannot. 

And now, my good sir, I almost blush to proceed : — but, tell 
me, may I ask — will you permit — that your child may accom- 
pany them ? Do not think us unreasonable, but consider the 
many inducements which conspire to make London the happiest 
place at present she can be in. The joyful occasion of the jour- 
ney, — the gaiety of the whole party, opposed to the dull life she 
must lead, if left here with a solitary old woman for her sole 
companion, while she so well knows the cheerfulness and felicity 
enjoyed by the rest of the family, — are circumstances that seem 
to merit your consideration. Mrs. Mirvan desires me to 
assure you that one week is all she asks, as she is certain 
that the captain, who hates London, will be eager to revisit 
Howard Grove ; and Maria is so very earnest in wishing to have 
the company of her friend, that if you are inexorable, she will be 
deprived of half the pleasure she otherwise hopes to re- 
ceive. 

However, I will not, my good sir, deceive you into an opinion 
that they intend to live in a retired manner, as that cannot be 
fairly expected. But you have no reason to be uneasy concerning 
Madame Duval ; she has not any correspondent in England, and 
obtains no intelligence but by common report. She must be a 
stranger to the name your child bears ; and even should she hear 
of this excursion, so short a time as a week or less spent in town 
upon so particular an occasion, though previous to their meeting, 
cannot be construed into disrespect to herself. 

Mrs. Mirvan desires me to assure you, that if you will oblicre 
her, her two children shall equally share her time and her atten- 
tion. She has sent a commission to a friend in town to take a 
house for her ; and while she waits for an answer concerning it, 
I shall for one from you to our petition. However, your child is 
writing herself ; and lhat, I doubt not, will more avail than all 
we can possibly urge. 


EVELINA. 


2T 


My daughter desires her best compliments to you she says, 
you will grant her request, but not else. 

Adieu, my dear sir ; we all hope every thing from your good- 
ness. 

M. Howard. 


LETTER VIII. 

Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 

Howard Grove, March 26. 

This house seems to be the house of joy ; every face wears a 
smile, %id a laugh is at every body’s service. It is quite amusing 
to walk about and see the general confusion. A room leading to 
the garden is fitting up for Captain Mirvan’s study. Lady Howard 
does not sit a moment in a place. Miss Mirvan is making caps ; 
everybody so busy ! — such flying from room to room ! — so many 
orders given and retracted, and given again, — nothing but hurry 
and perturbation. 

Well but, my dear sir, I am desired to make a request to you. 

I hope you will not think me an encroacher : Lady Howard in- 
sists upon my writing ! — yet I hardly know how to go on ; a 
petition implies a want, — and have you left me one ? No, in- 
deed. 

I am half ashamed of myself for beginning this letter. But 
these dear ladies are so pressing — I cannot, for my life, resist 
wishing for the pleasures they offer me, — provided you do not 
disapprove them. 

They are to make a very short stay in town. The captain will 
meet them in a day or two. Mrs. Mirvan and her sweet daugh- 
ter both go ; what a happy party ! Yet I am not very eager to 
accompany them ; at least I shall be contented to remain where 
I am, if you desire that I should. 

Assured, my dearest sir, of your goodness, your bounty, and 
your indulgent kindness, ought I to form a wish that has not 
your sanction? Decide for me, therefore, without the least 


28 


EVELINA. 


apprehension that I shall be uneasy or discontented. While I 
am yet in suspense, perhaps I may hope ; but I am most certain 
that when you have once determined, I shall not repine. 

They tell me that London is now in full splendour. Two play- 
houses are open, — the Opera-house, — Ranelagh, — and the Pan- 
theon. — ^You see I have learned all their names. However, pray 
don’t suppose that I make it a point of going ; for I shall hardly 
sigh to see them depart without me, though I shall probably never 
meet with such another opportunity. And indeed, their domes- 
tic happiness will be so great, — it is natural to wish to partake of 
it. 

I believe I am bewitched ! I made a resolution, when JHiDegan, 
that I would not be urgent ; but my pen, or rather my moughts 
will not suffer me to keep it — for I acknowledge, I must acknow- 
ledge, I cannot help wishing for your permission. 

I almost repent already that I have made this confession ; pray 
forget that you have read it, if this journey is displeasing to you. 
But I will not write any longer ; for the more I think of this 
affair, the less indifferent to it I find myself. 

Adieu, my most honoured, most reverenced, most beloved father ! 
for by what other name can I call you ? I have no happiness or 
sorrow, no hope or fear, but what your kindness bestows, or your 
displeasure may cause. You will not, I am sure, send a refusal 
without reasons unanswerable, and therefore I shall cheerfully 
acquiesce. Yet I hope — I hope you will be able to permit me to 
go! 

I am, with the utmost affection. 

Gratitude, and duty, your 

Evelina . 

I cannot to you sign Anville, and what other name may I 
claim ? 


EVELINA. 


29 


LETTER IX. 

Mr. Villars to Evelina. 

Berry Hill, March 28. 

To resist the urgency of entreaty is a power w'hich I have not 
yet acquired ; I aim not at an authority which deprives you of 
liberty, yet I would fain guide myself by a prudence which should 
save me the pangs of repentance. Your impatience to fly to a 
place which your imagination has painted to you in colours so 
attractive, surprises me not ; I have only to hope, that the liveli- 
ness of your fancy may not deceive you : to refuse would be rais- 
ing it fliill higher. To see my Evelina happy is to see myself 
without a wish : go then, my child : and may that Heaven which 
alone can direct, preserve, and strengthen you ! To that, my 
love, will I daily oflfer prayers for your felicity. O may it guard, 
watch over you, and defend you from danger, save you from dis- 
tress, and keep vice as distant from your person as from your 
heart ! And to me may it grant the ultimate blessing of closing 
these aged eyes in the arms of one so dear — so deservedly be- 
loved ! 

Arthur Villars. 


LETTER X. 

Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 

Queen- Anne-street, London, Saturday, April 2. 

This moment arrived. Just going to Drury-lane Theatre. 
The celebrated Mr. Garrick performs Ranger. I am quite in 
ectasy. So is Miss Mirvan. How fortunate that he should hap- 
pen to play ! We would not let Mrs. Mirvan rest till she con- 
sented to go. Her chief objection was to our dress, for we have 
had no time to Londonize ourselves ; but we teased her into com- 
pliance, and so we are to sit in some obscure place, that she may 


30 


EVELINA. 


not be seen. As to me, I should be alike unknown in the most 
conspicuous or most private part of the house. 

I can write no more now. I have hardly time to breathe — 
only just this, the houses and streets are not quite so superb as I 
expected. However, I have seen nothing yet, so I ought not to 
judge. 

Well ; adieu, my dearest sir, for the present. I could not for- 
bear writing a few words instantly on my arrival, though I sup- 
pose my letter of thanks for your consent is still on the road. 

Saturday night. 

O, my dear sir, in what raptures am T returned ! Well may 
Mr. Garrick be so celebrated, so universally admired — I had not 
any idea of so great a performer. 

Such ease ! such vivacity in his manner ! such grace in his 
motions! such fire and meaning in his eyes! I could hardly 
believe he had studied a written part, for every word seemed to 
be uttered from the impulse of the moment. 

His action — at once so graceful and so free ! — his voice — so 
clear, so melodious, yet so wonderfully various in its tones ! — Such 
animation ! — every look speaks ! 

I would have given the world to have had the whole play acted 
over again. And when he danced — 0, how I envied Clarinda ? 
I almost wished to have jumped on the stage, and joined them. 

I am afraid you will think me mad, so I won’t say any more ; 
yet I really believe Mr. Garrick would make you mad too, if you 
could see him. I intend to ask Mrs. Mirvan to go to the play 
every night while we stay in town. She is extremely kind to 
me ; and Maria, her charming daughter, is the sweetest girl in 
the world. 

I shall write to you every evening all that passes in the day, 
and that in the same manner as, if I could see, I should tell 
you. 


Sunday. 

This morning we went to Portland Chapel ; and afterwards we 
walked in the Mall of St. James’s Park, which by no means 


EVELINA. 


31 


answered my expectations : it is a long straight walk of dirty 
gravel, very uneasy to the feet ; and at each end, instead of an 
open prospect, nothing is to he seen but houses built of brick. 
When Mrs. Mirvan pointed out the Palace to me, I think I was 
never much more surprised. 

However, the walk was very agreeable to us ; every body 
looked gay, and seemed pleased : and the ladies were so much 
dressed that Miss Mirvan and I could do nothing but look at 
them. Mrs. Marvin met several of her friends. No wonder, for 
I never saw so many people assembled together before. I looked 
about for some of my acquaintance, but in vain ; for I saw not 
one person that I knew, which is very odd, for all the world 
seemed there. 

Mrs. Mirvan says we are not to walk in the Park again next 
Sunday, even if we should be in town, because there is better com- 
pany in Kensington Gardens ; but really, if you had seen how 
much everybody was dressed, you would not think that pos- 
sible. 

Monday. 

We are to go this evening to a private ball, given by Mrs. 
Stanley, a very fashionable lady of Mrs. Mirvan’s acquaintance. 

We have been a-shopping as Mrs. Mirvan calls it, all this morn- 
ing, to buy silks, caps, gauzes, and so forth. 

The shops are really very entertaining, especially the mercers’ ; 
there seem to be six or seven men belonging to each shop ; and 
every one took care, by bowing and smirking, to be noticed. We^ 
were conducted from one to another, and carried from room to 
room with so much ceremony, that at first I was almost afraid to 
go on. 

I thought I should never have chosen a silk : for they pro- 
duced so many, I knew not which to fix upon ; and they recom- 
mended them all so strongly, that I fancy they thought I only 
wanted persuasion to buy every thing they showed me. And^ 
indeed, they took so much trouble, that I was almost ashamed I ^ 
could not. 

At the milliners’ the ladies we met were so much dressed, that 


32 


EVELINA. 


I should rather have imagined they were making visits than pur- 
chases. But what most diverted me was, that we were more fre- 
quently served by men than by women ; and such men ! so finical, 
so affected ! they seem’ed to understand every part of a woman’s 
dress better than we do ourselves; and they recommended caps 
and ribands with an air of so much importance, that I wished 
to ask them how long they had left off wearing them. 

The despatch with which they work in these great shops is 
amazing for they have promised me a complete suit of linen 
against the evening. 

I have just had my hair dressed. You can’t think how oddly 
my head feels; full of powder and black pins, and a great 
cushion on the top of it. I believe you would hardly know me, 
for my face looks quite different to what it did before my hair 
was dressed. When I shall be able to make use of a comb for 
myself I cannot tell ; for my hair is so much entangled, frizzled 
they call it, that I fear it will be very difficult. 

I am half-afraid of this ball to-night ; for you know, I have 
never danced but at school ; however. Miss Mirvan says there is 
nothing in it. Yet I wish it was over. 

Adieu, my dear sir ; pray excuse the wretched stuff' I write ; 
perhaps I may improve by being in this town, and then my let- 
ters will be less unworthy your reading. Meantime, I am. 

Your dutiful and affectionate, 

though unpolished, 

Evelina. 

Poor Miss Mirvan cannot wear one of the caps she made, 
because they dress her hair too large for them. 


LETTER XI. . . .. 

Evelina in continuation. 

Queen- Anne-street, April 5, Tuesday morning. 

I HAVE a vast deal to say, and shall give all this morning to 
my pen. As to my plan of writing every evening the adven- 


EVELINA. 


33 


tures of the day, I find it impracticable ; for the diversions here 
are so very late, that if I began my letter after them, I could not 
go to bed at all. 

We passed a most extraordinary evening. X private \>2i\\ this 
was called, so I expected to have seen about four or five couple ; 
but Lord ! my dear sir, I believe I saw half the world ! Two 
very large rooms were full of company ; in one were cards for 
the elderly ladies, and in the other were the dancers. My 
mamma Mirvan, for she always calls me her child, said she would 
sit with Maria and me till we were provided with partners, and 
then join the card-players. 

The gentlemen, as they passed and repassed, looked as if they 
thought we were quite at their disposal, and only waiting for the 
honour of their commands ; and they sauntered about, in a careless, 
indolent manner, as if with a view to keep us in suspense. I don’t 
speak of this in regard to Miss Mirvan and myself only, but to 
the ladies in general : and I thought it so provoking, that I deter- 
mined, in my own mind, that, far from humouring such airs, I 
would rather not dance at all, than with any one who should 
seem to think me ready to accept the^ first partner who would 
condescend to take me. 

Not long after, a young man, who had for some time looked at 
us with a kind of negligent impertinence, advanced on tiptoe 
towards me ; he had a set smile on his face, and his dress was so 
foppish that I really believe he even wished to be stared at, and 
yet he was very ugly. 

Bowing almost to the ground, with a sort of a swing, and 
waving his hand with the greatest conceit, after a short and silly 
pause, he said, “ Madam— may I presume and stopped, ofler- 
ing to take my hand. I drew it back, but could scarce forbear 
laughing. “ Allow me, madam,” continued he, afiectedly breaking 
otf every half-moment, “ the honour and happiness— if I am not 
so unhappy as to address you too late — to have the happiness 
and honour ” 

Again he would have taken my hand ; but bowing my head, 
I begged to be excused, and turned to Miss Mirvan to conceal 

2 * 


34 : 


EVELINA. 


my laughter. He then desired to know if I had already 
engaged myself to some more fortunate man ? I said no, and 
that I believed I should not dance at all. He would keep him- 
self, he told me, disengaged, in hopes I should relent ; and then, 
uttering some ridiculous speeches of sorrow and disappointment, 
though his face still wore the same invariable smile, he re- 
treated. 

It so happened, as we have since recollected, that during this 
little dialogue Mrs. Mirvan was conversing with the lady of the 
house. And very soon after, another gentleman, who seemed 
about six-and-twenty years old, gaily but not foppishly dressed, 
and indeed extremely handsome, with an air of mixed politeness 
and gallantry, desired to know if I was engaged, or would 
honour him with my hand. So he was pleased to say, though I 
am sure I know not what honour he could receive from me ; but 
these sort of expressions, I find, are used as words, of course, 
without any distinction of persons, or study of propriety. 

Well, T bowed, and I am sure I coloured ; for indeed I was 
frightened at the thoughts of dancing before so many people, all 
strangers, and, which was worse, with a stranger : however, that 
was unavoidable ; for, though I looked round the room several 
times, I could not see one person that I knew. And so he took 
my hand, and led me to join in the dance. 

The minuets were over before we arrived, for we were kept 
late by the milliners making us wait for our things. 

He seemed very desirous of entering into conversation with 
me; but I was seized with such a panic that T could hardly 
speak a word, and nothing but the shame of so soon changing 
my mind prevented my returning to my seat, and declining to 
dance at all. 

He appeared to be surprised at my terror, which I believe was 
but too apparent : however, he asked no questions, though I fear 
he must think it very strange, for I did not choose to tell him it 
was owing to my never before dancing but with a school-girl. 

His conversation was sensible and spirited ; his air and address 
were open and noble; his manners gentle, attentive, and infin- 


EVELINA. 


35 


itely engaging ; his person is all elegance, and his countenance 
the most animated and expressive I have ever seen. 

In a short time vve were joined by Miss Mirvan, who stood 
next couple to us. But how was I startled when she whispered 
me that my partner was a nobleman ! This gave me a new 
alarm : how will he be provoked, thought I, when he finds what 
a simple rustic he has honoured with his choice ! one whose 
ignorance of the world makes her perpetually fear doing some- 
thing wrong ! 

That he should be so much my superior every way quite dis- 
concerted me ; and you will suppose ray spirits were not much 
raised when I heard a lady, in passing us, say, “ This is the most 
difficult dance I ever saw.’^ 

“ O dear, then,” cried Maria to her partner, “ with your leave, 
ril sit down till the next.” 

“ So will I too, then,” cried I, “ for I am sure I can hardly 
stand.” 

“ But you must speak to your partner first,” answered she ; 
ibr he had turned aside to talk with some gentleman. How- 
ever, I had not sufiicient courage to address him ; and so away 
vve all three tripped, and seated ourselves at another end of the 
room. 

But unfortunately for me, Miss Mirvan soon after suffered her- 
self to be prevailed upon to attempt the dance ; and just as she 
rose to go, she cried, “ My dear, yonder is your partner. Lord 
Orville, walking about the room in search of you.” 

“ Don’t leave rne then, dear girl,” cried I ; but she was obliged 
to go. And now I was more uneasy than ever ; I would have 
given the world to have seen Mrs. Mirvan, and begged of her to 
make my apologies ; for what, thought I, can I possibly say to 
him in excuse for running away ? he must either conclude me a 
fool, or half-mad ; for any one brought up in the great world, 
and accustomed to its ways, can have no idea of such sort of 
fears as mine. 

My confusion increased when I observed that he was every 
where seeking me, with apparent perplexity and surprise ; but 


EVELINA. 


when, at last, I saw him move towards the place where I sat, I. 
was ready to sink with shame and distress. I found it abso- 
lutely impossible to keep my seat, because I could not think of a 
word to say for myself; and so I rose, and walked hastily 
towards the card-room, resolving to stay with Mrs. Mirvan the 
rest of the evening, and not to dance at all. But before I could 
find her. Lord Orville saw and approached me. 

He begged to know if I was not well? You may easily 
imagine how much I was embarrassed. I made no answer ; but 
hung my head like a fool, and looked on my fan. 

He then, with an air the most respectfully serious, asked if he 
had been so unhappy as to offend me ? 

“Ho, indeed!” cried I; and in hopes of changing the dis- 
course, and preventing his further inquiries, I desired to know if 
he had seen the young lady who had been conversing with 
me ? 

“Ho ; but would I honour him with any commands to her ?” 

“ O, by no means I” 

“ Was there any other person with whom I wished to speak?” 

I said no, before I knew I had answered at all. 

“ Should he have the pleasure of bringing me any refresh- 
ment ?” 

I bowed almost involuntarily. And away he flew. 

I was quite ashamed of being so troublesome, and so much 
above myself as these seeming airs made me appear ; but indeed 
I was too much confused to think or act with any consistency. 

If he had not been as swift as lightning, I don’t know 
whether I should not have stolen away again ; but he returned 
in a moment. When I had drunk a glass of lemonade, he 
hoped, he said, that I would again honour him with my hand, as 
a new dance was just begun. I had not the presence of mind to 
say a single word, and so I let him once more lead me to the 
place I had left. 

Shocked to find how silly, how childish a part I had acted, 
my former fears of dancing before such a company, and with 
such a partner, returned more forcibly than ever. I suppose he 


EVELINA. 


37 


perceived my uneasiness ; for he entreated me to sit down again 
if dancing was disagreeable to me. But I was quite satisfied 
with the folly I had already shown ; and therefore declined his 
ofier, though I was really scarce able to stand. 

Under such conscious disadvantages, you may easily imagine, 
my dear sir, how ill I acquitted myself. But though I both 
expected and deserved to find him very much mortified and dis- 
pleased at his ill fortune in the choice he had made ; yet, to my 
very great relief, he appeared to be even contented, and very 
much assisted and encouraged me. These people in high life 
have too much presence of mind, I believe, to seem disconcerted, 
or out of humour, however they may feel ; for had 1 been the 
person of the most consequence in the room, I could not have 
met with more attention and respect. 

When the dance was over, seeing me still very much flurried, 
he led me to a seat, saying that he would not sufler me to 
fatigue myself from politeness. 

And then, if my capacity, or even if my spirits had been bet- 
ter, in how animated a conversation might I have been engaged ! 
it was then I saw that the rank of Lord Orville was his least 
recommendation, his understanding and his manners being far 
more distinguished. His remarks upon the company in general 
were so apt, so just, so lively, I am almost surprised myself that 
they did not reanimate me ; but indeed I was too well convinced 
of the ridiculous part I had myself played before so nice an 
observer, to be able to enjoy his pleasantry ; so self-compassion 
gave me feeling for others. Yet I had not the courage to 
attempt either to defend them or to rally in my turn ; but listened 
to him in silent embarrassment. 

When he found this, he changed the subject, and talked of 
public places and public performers; but he soon discovered 
that I was totally ignorant of them. 

He then, very ingeniously, turned the discourse to the amuse- 
ments and occupations of the country. 

It now struck me, that he was resolved to try whether or not 


38 


EVELINA. 


I was capable of talking upon any subject. This put so great a 
constraint upon my thoughts that I was unable to go further 
than a monosyllable, and not even so far when I could possibly 
avoid it. 

We were sitting in this manner, he conversing with all gaiety, 
I looking down with all foolishness, when that fop who had first 
asked me to dance, with a most ridiculous solemnity approached, 
and, after a profound bow or two, said, “ I humbly beg pardon, 
madam, — and of you too, my lord, — for breaking in upon such 
agreeable conversation — which must, doubtless, be more delecta- 
ble — than what I have the honour to offer — but — 

I interrupted him — I blush for my folly — with laughing ; yet 
I could not help it ; for, added to the man’s stately foppishness 
(and he actually took snuff between every three words), when I 
looked round at Lord Orville, I saw such extreme surprise in his 
face, — the cause of which appeared so absurd, that I could not 
for my life preserve my gravity. 

I had not laughed before from the time I had left Miss Mir- 
van, and I had much better have cried then. Lord Orville 
actually stared at me : the beau, I know not his name, looked 
quite enraged. “ Refrain, madam,” said he, with an important 
air, “ a few moments refrain ! — I have but a sentence to trouble 
you with. May I know to what accident I must attribute not 
having the honour of your hand ?” 

“ Accident, sir !” repeated I, much astonished. 

“ Yes, accident, madam ; — for surely — I must take the liberty 
to observe — pardon me, madam — it ought to be no common one 
— that should tempt a lady — so young a one too, — to be guilty 
of ill-manners.” 

A confused idea now for the first time entered my head, of 
something I had heard of the rules of an assembly ; but I was 
never at one before, — I have only danced at school, — and so 
giddy and heedless I was, that I had not once considered the 
impropriety of refusing one partner and afterward accepting 
another. I was thunderstruck at the recollection : but while these 


EVELINA. 


39 


thoughts were rushing into my head, Lord Orville, with some 
warmth, said, This lady, sir, is incapable of meriting such an 
accusation !” 

The creature — for I am very angry with him — made a low 
bow, and with a grin the most malicious I ever saw, “ My lord,” 
said he, “ far be it from me to accuse the lady, for having the 
discernment to distinguish and prefer— the superior attractions 
of your lordship.” 

Again he bowed, and walked off. 

Was ever any thing so provoking? I was ready to die with 
shame. “ What a coxcomb !” exclaimed Lord Orville : while I, 
without knowing what I did, rose hastily, and moving off, “ I 
can’t imagine,” cried T, “ where Mrs. Mirvan has hid herself I” 

“ Give me leave to see,” answered he. I bowed and sat down, 
not daring to meet his eyes ; for what must he think of me, be- 
tween my blunder and the supposed preference ? 

He returned in a moment, and told me that Mrs. Mirvan was 
at cards, but would be glad to see me ; and I went immediatelv. 
There was but one chair vacant ; so, to my great relief, Lord 
Orville presently left us. I then told Mrs. Mirvan my disasters • 
and she good-naturedly blamed herself for not having better 
instructed me ; but said, she had taken it for granted that I 
must know such common customs. However, the man may, I 
think, be satisfied with his pretty speech, and carry his resent- 
ment no further. 

In a short time Lord Orville returned. I consented, with the 
best grace I could, to go down another dance, for I had had time 
to recollect myself ; and therefore resolved to use some exertion, 
and, if possible, appear less a fool than I had hitherto done ; for 
it occurred to me, that, insignificant as I was, compared to a 
man of his rank and figure, yet since he had been so unfortunate 
as to make choice of me for a partner, why I should endeavour 
to make the best of it. 

The dance, however, was short, and he spoke very little ; so I 
had no opportunity of putting my resolution in practice. He 
was satisfied, I suppose, with his former successless efforts to 


40 


EVELINA. 


draw me out ; or ratber, I fancied, be bad been inquiring who I 
was. Tbis again disconcerted me \ and tbe spirits I bad deter- 
mined to exert again failed me. Tired, ashamed, and mortified, 
I begged to sit down till we returned home, which I did soon 
after. Lord Orville did me tbe honor to band me to tbe coach, 
talking all tbe way of tbe honor I bad done him ! 0, these 

fashionable people ! 

Well, my dear sir, was it not a strange evening ? 1 could 

not help being thus particular, because, to me, every thing is so 
new. But it is now time to conclude. I am, with all love and 
duty, your 

Evelina. 


LETTER XII. 
Evelina in continuation. 


Tuesday, April 6. 

There is to be no end to the troubles of last night. I have 
this moment, between persuasion and laughter, gathered from 
Maria the most curious dialogue that ever I heard. You will at 
first be startled at my vanity ; but, my dear sir, have patience ! 

It must have passed while I was sitting with Mrs. Mirvan in 
the card room. Maria was taking some refreshment, and saw 
Lord Orville advancing for the same purpose himself ; but he 
did not know her, though she immediately recollected hipo. 
Presently after, a very gay-looking man, stepping hastily up to 
him, cried, “ Why, my lord, what have you done with your 
lovely partner ?” 

'•’"Nothing answered Lord Orville, with a smile and a shrug. 

“ By Jove,” cried the man, “ she is the most beautiful creature 
T ever saw in my life !” 

Lord Orville, as he well might, laughed ; but answered, “Yes, 
a pretty, modest-looking girl.” 

“ 0, my lord,” cried the madman, “ she is an angel.” 

“ A silent one,” returned he. 


EVELINA. 


41 


“ Why, ay, my lord, how stands she as to that ? She looks 
all intelligence and expression.” 

“ A poor, weak girl !” answered Lord Orville, shaking his 
head. 

“ By Jove,” cried the other, “ I am glad to hear it !” 

At that moment, the same odious creature who had been my 
former tormentor joined them. Addressing Lord Orville with 
great respect, he said, “ I beg pardon, my lord, — if I was — as I 
fear might be case — rather too severe in my censure of the lady 
who is honoured with your protection — but, my lord, ill-breeding 
is apt to provoke a man.” 

“ 111- breeding !” cried my unknown champion ; “ impossible ! 
that elegant face can never be so vile a mask !” 

“O, sir, as to that,” answered he, “you must allow me to 
judge ; for though I pay all deference to your opinion in other 
things — yet I hope you will grant — and I appeal to your lord- 
ship also — that I am not totally despicable as a judge of good or 
ill-manners.” 

“ I was so wholly ignorant,” said Lord Orville, gravely, “ of 
the provocation you might have had, that t could not but be 
surprised at your singular resentment.” 

“ It was far from my intention,” answered he, “ to offend your 
lordship ; but really, for a person who is nobody, to give herself 
such airs, — I own I could not command my passions. For, my 
lord, though I have made diligent inquiry — I cannot learn who 
she is.” 

“ By what I can make out,” cried my defender, “ she must be 
a country parson’s daughter.” 

“ He ! he ! he ! very good, ’pon honor,” cried the fop ; “ well, 
so I could have sworn by her manners.” 

And then, delighted at his own wit, he laughed, and went 
away, as I suppose, to repeat it. 

“ But what the deuce is all this ?” demanded the other. 

“ Why, a very foolish affair,” answered Lord Orville ; “ your 
Helen first refused this coxcomb, and then — danced with me. 
This is I all can gather of it.” • 


42 


EVELINA, 


“ 0, Orville,” returned lie, “ you are a happy man ! — But ill- 
bred ? — I can never believe it ! And she loooks too sensible to 
be ignorant.^'* 

“ Whether ignQrant or mischievous I will not pretend to 
determine ; but certain it is she attended to all I could say to 
her, though I have really fatigued myself with fruitless endea- 
vours to entertain her, with the most immoveable gravity ; but 
no sooner did Level begin his complaint than she was seized 
with a fit of laughing, first affronting the poor beau, and then 
enjoying his mortification.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha ! why there is some genius in that, my lord, 
though perhaps rather — rustic'^ 

Here Maria was called to dance, and so heard no more. 

How, tell me, my dear sir, did you ever know any thing more 
provoking? A poor weak girl! ignorant or mischievous I 
What mortifying words ! I am resolved, however, that I will 
never again be tempted to go to an assembly. I wish I had 
been in Dorsetshire. 

Well, after this, you will not be surprised that Lord Orville 
contented himself with an inquiry after our healths this morn- 
ing, by his servant, without troubling himself to call, as Miss 
Mirvan had told me he would ; but perhaps it may be only a 
country custom. 

I would not live here for the world. I care not how soon we 
leave town. London soon grows tiresome. I wish the captain 
would come. Mrs. Mirvan talks of the opera for this evening ; 
however, 1 am very indifierent about it. 


Wednesday morning. 

Well, my dear sir, I have been pleased against my will, I 
could almost say ; for I must own I went out in very ill-humour, 
which I think you cannot wonder at : but the music and the 
singing were charming ; they soothed me into a pleasure the 
most grateful, the best suited to my present disposition in the 
world. I hope to persuade Mrs. Mirvan to go again on Saturday. 
I wish the opera was every night. It is of all entertainments 


EVELINA. 


43 


the sweetest and most delightful. Some of the songs seemed to 
melt my very soul. It was what they call a serious opera, as 
the comic first singer was ill. 

To-night we go to Ranelagh. If any of those three gentlemen 
who conversed so freely about me should be there, — but I won’t 
think of it. 

Thursday momiog. 

Well, my dear sir, we went to Ranelagh. It is a charming 
place ; and the brilliancy of the lights, on my first entrance, 
made me almost think I was in some enchanted castle or fairy 
palace, for all looked like magic to me. 

The very first person I saw was Lord Orville. I felt so con- 
fused ! — but he did not see me. After tea, Mrs. Mirvan being 
tired, Maria and I walked round the room alone. Then again we 
saw him, standing by the orchestra. We, too, stopped to hear a 
singer. He bowed to me ; I courtesied, and I am sure I, 
coloured. We soon walked on, not liking our situation ; how- 
ever, he did not follow us ; and when we passed by the orchestra 
again he was gone. Afterwards, in the course of the evening, 
we met him several times ; but he was always with some party, 
and never spoke to us, though whenever he chanced to meet my 
eyes he condescended to bow. 

I cannot be but hurt at the opinion he entertains of me. It is 
true, my own behaviour incurred it — yet he is himself the most 
agreeable, and, seemingly, the most amiable man in the world, 
and, therefore, it is — that I am grieved to be thought ill of by him ; 
for of whose esteem ought we to be ambitious, if not of those 
who most merit our own ? — But it is too late to reflect upon this 
now. Well, I can’t help it. However, I think I have done with 
assemblies. 

This morning was destined for seeing sights^ — auctions, curious 
shops, and so forth ; but my head ached, and I was not in 
a humour to be amused, and so I made them go without me, 
though very unwillingly. They are all kindness. 

And now I am sorry I did not accompany them, for I know 
not what to do with myself. I had resolved not to go to the 


u 


EVELINA. 


play to-night ; but I believe I shall. In short, I hardly care 
whether I do or not. 

5l« * * * 

I thought I had done wrong ! Mrs. Mirvan and Maria have 
been half the town over, and so entertained ! — while I, like a 
fool, staid at home to do nothing. And, at an auction in Pall- 
mall, who should they meet but Lord Orville ! lie sat 
next to Mrs. Mirvan, and they talked a great deal together ; but 
she gave me no account of the conversation. 

I may never have such another opportunity of seeing London ; 
I am quite sorry that I was not of the party ; but I deserved this 
mortification, for having indulged my ill-humour. 

Thursday night. 

We are just returned from the play, which was King Lear, 
and has made me very sad. We did not see any body we knew. 

Well, adieu ; it is too late to write more. 

Friday. 

Captain Mirvan is arrived. I have not spirits to give an account 
of his introduction, for he has really shocked me. I do not like 
him. He seems to be surly, vulgar, and disagreeable. 

Almost the same moment that Maria was presented to him, he 
began some rude jests upon the bad shape of her nose, and called 
her a tall, ill-formed thing. She bore it with the utmost good- 
humour ; but that kind and sweet-tempered woman, Mrs. Mirvan, 
deserved a better lot. I am amazed she would marry him. 

For my own part, I have been so shy that I have hardly 
spoken to him, or he to me. I cannot imagine why the family 
were so rejoiced at his return. If he had spent his whole life 
abroad, I should have supposed they might rather have been 
thankful than sorrowful. However, I hope they do not think so 
ill of him as I do. At least, I am sure they have too much pru- 
dence to make it known. 

Saturday night. 

We have been to the Opera, and I am still more pleased than 
I was on Tuesday. I could have thought myself in Paradise, but 


EVELINA. 


45 


for the continual talking of the company around me. We sat in 
the pit, where everybody was dressed in so high a style, that if I 
had been less delighted with the performance, my eyes would 
have found me suflScient entertainment from lookino; at the 
ladies. 

I was very glad I did not sit next the captain ; for he could 
not bear the music or singers, and was extremely gross in his 
observations on both. When the opera was over, we went into 
a place called the coflfee-room, where ladies as well as gentlemen 
assemble. There are all sorts of refreshments, and the company 
walk about, and chat with the same ease and freedom as in a 
private room. 

On Monday we go to a ridotto, and on Wednesday we return 
to Howard Grove. The captain says he won’t stay here to be 
smoked with filth any longer; but having been seven years 
smoked with a burning sun^ he will retire to the country, and 
sink into a fair-weather chap. 

Adieu, my dear sir. 


LETTER XIII. 

Evelina in continuation. 

Tuesday, April 12. 

My dear Sir : 

We came home from the ridotto so late, or rather so 
early, that it was not possible for me to write. Indeed we did 
not go — you will be frightened to hear it — till past eleven o’clock : 
but nobody does. A terrible reverse of the order of nature ! 
We sleep with the sun, and wake with the moon. 

The room was very magnificent, the lights and decorations 
were brilliant, and the company gay and splendid. But I should 
have told you that I made many objections j;o being of the party, 
according to the resolution I had formed. However, Maria 
laughed me out of my scruples, and so once again I went to 
an assembly. 


46 


EVELINA. 


Miss Mirvan danced a minuet ; but I had not the courage to 
follow her example. In our walks I saw Lord Orville. He was 
quite alone, but did not observe us. Yet as he seemed of no 
party, I thought it was not impossible that he might join us and 
though I did not wish much to dance at all — yet, I w’as more 
acquainted with him than with any other person in the room, I must 
own I could not help thinking it would be infinitely more desira- 
ble to dance again with him than with an entire stranger. To be 
sure, after all that had passed, it was very ridiculous to suppose it 
even probable that Lord Orville would again honour me with his 
choice ; yet I am compelled to confess my absurdity, by way of 
explaining what follows. 

Miss Mirvan was soon engaged; and presently after a very 
fashionable, gay-looking man, who seemed about thirty years of 
age, addressed himself to me, and begged to have the honour of 
dancing with me. Now Maria’s partner was a gentleman of Mrs. 
Mirvan’s acquaintance ; for she had told us it was highly impro- 
per for young women to dance with strangers at any public 
assembly. Indeed it was by no means my wish so to do ; yet I 
did not like to confine myself from dancing at all ; neither did I 
dare refuse this gentleman as I had done Mr. Lovel, and then, if 
any acquaintance should ofier, accept him ; and so, all these 
reasons combining, induced me to tell him — yet I blush to write 
it to you ! — that I was already engaged ; by which I meant to 
keep myself at liberty to dance, or not, as matters should fall 
out. 

I suppose my consciousness betrayed my artifice, for he looked 
at me as if incredulous ; and, instead of being satisfied with my 
answer and leaving me, according to my expectation, he walked 
at my side, and, with the greatest ease imaginable, began a con- 
versation in the free style which only belongs to old and intimate 
acquaintance. But, what was most provoking, he asked me a 
thousand questions concerning the partner to whom I was engaged. 
And at last he said, “ Is it really possible that a man whom you 
have honoured with your acceptance can fail to be at hand to 
profit from your goodness 


EVELINA. 


47 


I felt extremely foolish ; and begged Mrs. Mirvan to lead to a 
seat ; which she very obligingly did. The captain sat next her ; 
and, to my great surprise, this gentleman thought proper to 
follow, and seat himself next to me. 

“ What an insensible !” continued he ; “ why, madam, you 
are missing the most delightful dance in the world ! — the man 
must be either mad or a fool. Which do you incline to think 
him yourself?” 

“ Neither, sir,” answered I, in some confusion. 

He begged my pardon for the freedom of this supposition, 
saying, “ I really was off my guard, from astonishment that any 
man can be so much and so unaccountably his own epemy. But 
where, madam, can he possibly be ? — ^has he left the room ? or 
has he not been in it ?” 

“ Indeed, sir,” said I, peevishly, “ I know nothing of him.” 

“I don’t wonder that you are disconcerted, madam ; it is 
really very provoking. The best part of the evening will be 
absolutely lost. He deserves not that you should wait for 
him.” 

“I do not sir,” said I, “and I beg you not to ” 

“ Mortifying, indeed, madam,” interrupted he ; “a lady to 
wait for a gentlemen ! — 0, fy ! — careless fellow ! What can 
detain him ? Will you give me leave to seek him ?” 

“ If you please, sir,” answered I, quite terrified lest Mrs. 
Mirvan should attend to him ; for she looked very much sur- 
prised at seeing me enter into conversation with a stranger. 

“With all my heart,” cried he; “pray, what coat has he 
on.” 

“ Indeed I never looked at it.” 

“ Out upon him !” cried he : “ What ! did he address you in a 
coat not worth looking at ? What a shabby wretch !” 

How ridiculous ! I really could not help laughing, which, I 
fear, encouraged him, for he went on — • 

“ Charming creature ! and can you really bear ill usage with 
so much sweetness ? Can you, like 'patience on a 'monument^ 
smile in the midst of disappointment? For my part, though I 


48 


EVELINA. 


am not the offended person, my indignation is so great that I long 
to Mck the fellow round the room ! — unless, indeed,” (hesitating 
and looking earnestly at me), “ unless, indeed, it is a partner of 
your own creating 

I was dreadfully abashed, and could not make any answer. 

“ But no !” cried he again, and with a warmth, “ it cannot be 
that you are so cruel ! Softness itself is painted on your eyes. 
You could not, surely, have the barbarity so wantonly to trifle 
with my misery.” 

I turned away from this nonsense with real disgust. Mrs. Mir- 
van saw my confusion, but was perplexed what to think of it, 
and I could not explain to her the cause, lest the captain should 
hear me. I therefore proposed to walk ; she consented, and we 
all rose ; but, would you believe it ? this man had the assurance 
to rise too, and walk close by my side, as if of my party ! 

“ Now,” cried he, “ I hope we shall see this ingrate. Is that 
he,” (pointing to an old man who was lame), “ or that ?” And 
in this manner he asked of whoever was old or ugly in the room. 
I made no sort of answer ; and when he found that I was reso- 
lutely silent, and walked on as much as I could without observ- 
ing him, he suddenly stamped his foot, and cried out in a 
passion, “ Fool I idiot ! booby !” 

I turned hastily towards him : “ O, madam,” continued he, 
“ forgive my vehemence ; but I am distracted to think there should 
exist a wretch who can slight a blessing for which I would forfeit 
my life ! Oh that I could but meet him ! I would soon — But I 
grow angry : pardon me, madam, my passions are violent, and 
your injuries affect me !” 

I began to apprehend he was a madman, and stared at him 
with the utmost astonishment. “ I see you are moved, madam,” 
said he : “ generous creature ! — but don’t be alarmed, I am cool 
again, I am indeed, — upon my soul, I am : — I entreat you, most 
lovely of mortals ! I entreat you to be easy.” 

“Indeed, sir,” said I, very seriously, “ I must insist upon your 
leaving me : you are quite a stranger to me, and I am both 
unused and averse to your language and your manners.” 


EVELINA. 


49 


This seemed to have some effect on him. He made me a low 
bow, begged my pardon, and vowed he would not for the world 
offend me. 

“ Then, sir, you must leave me,'’ cried I. 

“ I am gone, madam, I am gone !” with a most tragical air ; 
and he marched away at a quick pace out of sight in a moment ; 
but before I had time to congratulate myself, he was again at my 
elbow. 

“ And could you really let me go, and not be sorry ? — Can you 
see me suffer torments inexpressible, and yet return all your 
favour for that miscreant who flies you ? Ungrateful puppy ! I 
could bastinado him !” 

“ For heaven’s sake my dear,” cried Mrs. Mirvan, “ who is he 
talking of?” 

“ Indeed, I do not know, madam,” said I : “ but I wish he 
would leave me.” 

“ What’s all that there ?” cried the captain. 

The man made a low bow, and said, “ Only, sir, a slight 
objection which this young lady makes to dancing with me, and 
which I am endeavouring to obviate. I shall think myself 
greatly honoured if you will intercede for me.” 

“ That lady, sir,” said the captain, coldly, “ is her own mis- 
tress.” And he walked sullenly on. 

“ You, madam,” said the man, who looked delighted, to Mrs. 
Mirvan, “ you, I hope, will have the goodness to speak for me.” 

“ Sir,” answered she gravely, “ I have not the pleasure of being 
acquainted with you.” 

“ I hope when you have, ma’am,” cried he, undaunted, “ you 
will honour me with your approbation: but, while I am yet 
unknown to you, it would be truly generous in you to counten- 
ance me ; and I flatter myself, madam, that you will not have 
cause to repent it.” 

Mrs. Mirvan, with an embarrassed air, replied, “ I do not at all 
mean, sir, to doubt your being a gentleman — but ” 

“ But what, madam?— -that doubt removed, why a hutP 

3 


50 


EVELINA. 


“ Well, sir,” said Mrs. Mirvan (with a good-humoured smile), 
“I will even treat you with your own plainness, and try what 
effect that will have on you : I must therefore tell you, once for 
all ” 

“ 0 pardon me, madam I” interrupted he eagerly, “ you must 
not proceed with those words once for all ; no, if I have been too 
plain, and, though a man, deserve a rebuke, remember, dear 
ladies, that if you copy, you ought in justice to excuse me.” 

We both stared at the man’s strange behaviour. 

Be nobler than your sex,” continued he, turning to me, 
“ honour me with one dance, and give up the ingrate who has 
merited so ill your patience.” 

Mrs. Mirvan looked with astonishment at us both. 

“ Whom does he speak of, my dear ? You never men- 
tioned 

“ O madam !” exclaimed he, “ he was not worth mentioning 
— it is a pity he was ever thought of ; but let us forget his exis- 
tence. One dance is all I solicit. Permit me, madam, the hon- 
our of this young lady’s hand ; it will be a favour I shall ever 
most gratefully acknowledge.” 

Sir,” answered she, “ favours and strangers have with me no 
connection.” 

“ If you have hitherto,” said he, “ confined your benevolence to 
your intimate friends, suffer me to be the first for whom your 
charity is enlarged.” 

“ Well, sir, I know not what to say to you, — but ” 

He stopped her hut with so many urgent entreaties, that she 
at last told me I must either go down one dance or avoid his 
importunities by returning home. I hesitated which alternative 
to choose : but this impetuous man at length prevailed, and I was 
obliged to consent to dance with him. 

And thus was my deviation from truth punished ; and thus did 
this man’s determined boldness conquer. 

During the dance, before we were too much engaged in it for 
conversation, he was extremely provoking about my partner, and 


EVELINA. 


51 


tried every means in his power to make me own that I had 
deceived him ; which, though I would not so far humble myself 
as to acknowledge, was indeed but too obvious. 

Lord Orville, I fancy, did not dance at all. He seemed to have 
a large acquaintance, and joined several different parties ; but 
you will easily suppose I was not much pleased to see him, in a 
few minutes after I was gone, walk towards the place I had just 
left, and bow to, and join Mrs. Mirvan ! 

How unluc.ky I thought myself that I had not longer with- 
stood this stranger’s importunities ! The moment we had gone 
down the dance, I was hastening away from him ; but he stop- 
ped me, and said, “ that I could by no means return to my 
party without giving offence, before we had done our duty of 
walking up the dance'' As I know nothing at all of these rules 
and customs, I was obliged to submit to his directions ; but I 
fancy I looked rather uneasy, for he took notice of my inatten- 
tion, saying, in his free way, “ Whence that anxiety ? Why are 
those lovely eyes perpetually averted ?” 

“ I wish you would say no more to me, sir,” cried I, peevishly : 
“ you have already destroyed all my happiness for this even- 
ing.” 

“ Good Heaven ! what is it I have done ? How have I mer- 
ited this scorn ?” 

“ You have tormented me to death ; you have forced me from 
my friends, and intruded yourself upon me, against my will, for a 
partner.” 

“ Surely, my dear madam, we ought to be better friends, since 
there seems to be something of sympathy in the frankness of our 
dispositions. And yet, were you not an angel, how do you think 
I could brook such contempt V' 

“ If I have offended you,” cried I, “you have but to leave me ; 
and O, how I wish you would !” 

“ My dear creature,” said he, half-laughing, “ why, where could 
you be educated V' 

“ Where I most sincerely wish I now was !” 

“ How conscious you must be, all beautiful that you are, that 


52 


EVELINA. 


those charming airs serve only to heighten the bloom of your 
complexion !” 

“ Your freedom, sir, where you are more acquainted may per- 
haps be less disagreeable ; but to me 

“ You do me justice,” cried he, interrupting me ; “ yes, I do 
indeed improve upon acquaintance ; you will hereafter be quite 
charmed with me.” 

“ Hereafter, sir, I hope I shall never 

“ 0, hush ! hush ! Have you forgot the situation in which I 
found you ? Have you forgot, that when deserted, I pursued you ; 
when betrayed, I adored you but for me ” 

“ But for you, sir, I might perhaps have been happy.” 

“ What, then, am I to conclude that, hut for me^ your partner 
would have appeared ? Poor fellow ! and did my presence awe 
him ?” 

“ I wish his presence, sir, could awe you .^” 

“ His presence ! Perhaps then you see him ?” 

“ Perhaps, sir, I do,” cried I, quite w^earied of his raillery. 

“ Where ? where ? for Heaven’s sake show me the wretch !’• 

“ Wretch, sir !” 

“O, a very savage ! — a sneaking, shame-faced, despicable 
puppy I” 

I know not what bewitched me, but my pride was hurt, and 
my spirits were tired, and — in short I had the folly, looking at 
Lord Orville, to repeat, “ Despicable^ you think ?” 

Ilis eyes instantly followed mine. “ Why, is that the gentle- 
man ?” 

. I made no answer ; I could not affirm, and I would not deny ; 
for I hoped to be relieved from his teasing by his mistake. 

The very moment we had done what he called our duty, I 
eagerly desired to return to Mrs. Mirvan. 

“ To your partner^ I presume, madam ?” said he, very gravely. 

This quite confounded me. I dreaded lest this mischievous 
man, ignorant of his rank, should address himself to Lord Orville, 
and say something which might expose my artifice. Fool ! to 
involve myself in such difficulties ! I now feared what I had 


EVELINA. 


63 


before wished; and therefore, to avoid Lord Orville, I was 
obliged myself to propose going down another dance though I 
was ready to sink with shame while I spoke. 

“ But your partner^ ma’am ?” said he, alTecting a very solemn 
air ; “ perhaps he may resent my detaining you : if you will give 
me leave to ask his consent ” 

“ Not for the universe.” 

“ Who is he, madam ?” 

I wished myself a hundred miles off. He repeated his ques- 
tion, “ What is his name 
' “Nothing — nobody — I don’t know ” 

He assumed a most important solemnity : “ How ! not know ? 
Give me leave, my dear madam, to recommend this caution to 
you : never dance in public with a stranger, — with one whose 
name you are unacquainted with, — who may be a mere adven- 
turer, a man of no character : consider to what impertinence you 
may expose yourself.” 

Was ever any thing so ridiculous? I could not help laughing 
in spite of my vexation. 

At this instant, Mrs. Mirvan, followed by Lord Orville, walked 
up to us. You will easily believe it was not difficult for me to 
recover my gravity; but what was my consternation, when this 
strange man, destined to be the scourge of my artifice, exclaimed, 
“ Ha ! my Lord Orville ! I protest I did not know your lordship. 
What can I say for my usurpation ! Yet, ‘faith my lord, such a 
prize was not to be neglected.” 

My shame and confusion were unspeakable. Who could have 
supposed or foreseen that this man knew Lord Orville ? But 
falsehood is not more unjustifiable than unsafe. 

Lord Orville, well he might, looked all amazement. 

“ The philosophic coldness of your lordship,” continued this 
odious creature, “ every man is not endowed with. I have used 
my utmost endeavours to entertain this lady, though I fear with- 
out success ; and your lordship will not be a little flattered, if 
acquainted with the difficulty which attended my procuring the 
honour of only one dance.” Then turning to me, who was sink- 


64 


EVELINA. 


ing with shame, while Lord Orville stood motionless, and Mrs. 
Mirvan astonished, he suddenly seized my hand, saying, “ Think 
ray lord, what must be my reluctance to resign this fair hand to 
your lordship !” 

In the same instant. Lord Orville took it of him ; I coloured 
violently, and made an eflfort to recover it. “ You do me too 
much honour, sir,” cried he, with ah air of gallantry, pressing it 
to his lips before he let it go ; “ however, I shall be happy to pro- 
fit by it, if this lady,” turning to Mrs. Mirvan, “ will permit me to 
seek for her party.” 

To compel him thus to dance I could not endure ; and 
eagerly called out, “ By no means — not for the world ! I must 
beg ” 

“ Will you honour me, madam, with your commands cried 
my tormentor ; “ may I seek the lady’s party ?” 

“ No sir,” answered I, turning from him. 

“ What eliall be done, my dear ?” said Mrs. Mirvan. 

“ Nothing, ma’am ; any thing, I mean ” 

“But do you dance, or not? You see his lordship waits.’^ 

“ I hope not — I beg that — I would not for the world — I am sure 
I ought to — to ” 

I could not speak ; but that confident man, determining to dis- 
cover whether or not I had deceived him, said to Lord Orville, 
who stood suspended, “ My lord, this affair, which at present 
seems perplexed, I will briefly explain: this lady proposed to me 

another dance, — nothing could have made me more happy, I 

only wished for your lordship’s permission; which, if now 
granted, will, I am persuaded, set every thing right.” 

I glowed with indignation. “ No, sir ; it is your absence, and 
that alone, can set every thing -right.” 

“ For Heaven’s sake, my dear,” cried Mrs. Mirvan, who ‘could 

no longer contain her surprise, “ what does all this mean ? were 

you pre-engaged ? had Lord Orville ” 

“ No, madam,” cried I, “ only— only I did not know that gen- 
tleman, — and so, — and so I thought — I intended — I ” 

Overpowered by all that bad passed I had not strength to 


EVELINA. 


65 


make my mortifying explanation : my spirits quite failed me, and 
I burst into tears. 

They all seemed shocked and amazed. 

“ What is the matter, my dearest love ?” cried Mrs. Mirvan, 
with the kindest concern. 

“ What have I done ?” exclaimed my evil genius, and ran 
ofBciously for a glass of water.” 

However, a hint was sufficient for Lord Orville, who compre- 
hended all I would have explained. He immediately led me to a 
seat, and said, in a low voice, “ Be not distressed, I beseech you ; 
I shall ever think-my name honoured by your making use of 
it” 

This politeness relieved me. A general murmur had alarmed 
Miss Mirvan, who flew instantly to me; while Lord Orville, the 
moment Mrs. Mirvan had taken the water, led my tormentor 
away. 

“ For Heaven’s sake, dear madam,” cried I, “ let me go home ; 
indeed I cannot stay here any longer.” 

“ Let us all go,” cried my kind Maria. 

“ But the captain, what will he say ? I had better go home in 
a chair.” 

Mrs. Mirvan consented, and I rose to depart Lord Orville 
and that man both came to me. The first, with an attention I 
but ill merited from him, led me to a chair ; while the other fol- 
lowed, pestering me with apologies. I wished to have made 
mine to Lord Orville, but was too much ashamed. 

It was about one o’clock. Mrs. Mirvan’s servants saw me 
home. 

And now, what again shall ever tempt me to an assembly ? T 
dread to hear what you will think of me, my most dear and 
honoured sir : you will need your utmost partiality to receive me 
without displeasure. 

This morning Lord Orville has sent to inquire after our health ; 
and- Sir Clement Willoughby (for that I find is the name of my 
persecutor) has called ; but I would not go down stairs till he was 
gone. 


66 


EVELINA. 


And now, my dear sir, I can somewhat account for the strange 
provoking, and ridiculous conduct of this Sir Clement last night 
for Miss Mirvan savs he is the very man with whom she heard 
Lord Orville conversing at Mrs Stanley’s when I was spoken of 
in so mortifying a manner. He was pleased to say he was glad 
to hear I was a fool ; and therefore, I suppose, he concluded he 
might talk as much nonsense as he pleased to me : however, I 
am very indifierent as to his opinion ; but for Lord Orville, — if 
then he thought me an idiot, now I am sure he must suppose me 
both bold and presuming. Make use of his name ? what imper- 
tinence ! — he can never know how it happened ; he can only 
imagine it was from an excess of vanity. Well, however, I 
shall leave this bad city to-morrow, and never again will I enter 
it. 

The captain intends to take us to-night to the fantoccini. I 
cannot bear that captain ; I can give you no idea how gross he is. 
I heartily rejoice that he was not present at the disagreeable con- 
clusion of yesterday’s adventure, for I am sure he would have 
contributed to my confusion ; which might perhaps have diverted 
him, as he seldom or never smiles but at some other person’s 
expense. 

And here I conclude my London letters, — and without any 
regret ; for I am too inexperienced and ignorant to conduct my- 
self with propriety in this town, where every thing is new to me, 
and many things are unaccountable and perplexing. 

Adieu my dear sir ; Heaven restore me safely to you ; I wish 
I was to go immediately to Berry Hill ; yet the wish is ungrate- 
ful to Mrs. Mirvan, and therefore I will repress it. I shall write 
an account of the fantoccini from Howard Grove. We have not 
been to half the public places that are now open, though I dare 
say you will think we 'have been to all. But they are almost as 
innumerable as the persons who fill them. 


EVELINA. 


57 


LETTER XIV. 

Evelina in continuation. 

Queen-Anne-street, April 18. 

How mucli will you be surprised, my dearest sir, at receiving 
another letter from London, of your Evelina’s writing ? But 
believe me, it was not my fault, neither is it my happiness, that 
I am still here : our journey has been postponed by an accident 
equally unexpected and disagreeable. 

We went last night to see the fantoccini, where we had infi- 
nite entertainment from the performance of a little comedy in 
French and Italian, by puppets, so admirably managed, that they 
both astonished and diverted us all, except the captain, who has 
a fixed and most prejudiced hatred of whatever is not English. 

When it was over, while we waited for the coach, a tall elder- 
ly woman brushed quickly past us calling out, “ My God ! what 
shall I do ?” 

“ Why, what would you do ?” cried the captain. 

“ Mafoi, Monsieur answered she, “ I have lost my company j 
and in this place I don’t know nobody.” 

There was something foreign in her accent, though it was 
difficult to discover whether she was an English or a French 
woman. She was very well dressed, and seemed so entirely at 
a loss what to do, that Mrs. Mirvan proposed to the captain to 
assist her. 

“ Assist her !” cried he, “ ay, with all my heart ; let a linkboy 
call her a coach.” 

There was not one to be had, and it rained very fast. 

“ Mon Dieu exclaimed the stranger, “ what shall become of 
me ? Je suis au deses'poirT 

“ Dear sir,” cried Miss Mirvan, “ pray let us take the poor 
lady into our coach. She is quite alone and a foreigner ” 

“ She’s never the better for that,” answered he ; “ she may be 
a woman of the town, for anything you know.” 

“ She does not appear such,” said Mrs. Mirvan ; “and indee 1 
3 ^ 


58 


EVELINA. 


she seems so much distressed, that we shall but follow the golden 
rule, if we carry her to her lodgings.” 

“You are mighty fond of new acquaintance,” returned he: 
“ but first let us know if she be going our way.” 

Upon enquiry, we found that she lived in Oxford-i oad *. and 
after some disputing, the captain, surlily and with a very bad grace^ 
consented to admit her into his coach ; though he soon convinced 
us that he was determined she should not be too much obliged 
to him, for he seemed absolutely bent upon quarrelling with her ; 
for which strange inhospitality I can assign no other reason than 
that she appeared to be a foreigner. 

The conversation began by her telling us that she had been in 
England only two days ; that the gentlemen belonging to her were 
Parisians, and had left her to seek for a hackney-coach, as her 
own carriage was abroad ; and that she had waited for them till 
she was quite frightened, and concluded that they had lost them- 
selves. 

“ And pray,” said the captain, “ why did you go to a public 
place without an Englishman ?” 

“ Ma foi^ sir,” answered she, “ because none of my acquaint- 
ance is in town.” 

“ Why, then,” said he, “ I’ll tell you what, your best way is to 
go out of it yourself.” 

“ Pardi monsieur^^' returned she, “ and so I shall ; for I promise 
you, I think the English a parcel of brutes : and I’ll go back to 
France as fast as I can, for I would not live among none of 
you.” 

“ Who wants you !” cried the captain : “ do you suppose, 
Madame French, we have not enough of other nations to pick our 
pockets already? I’ll warrant you there’s no need for you for to 
put in your oar.” 

“ Pick your pockets, sir ! I wish nobody wanted to pick your 
pockets no more then I do ; and I’ll promise you you’d be safe 
enough. But there’s no nation under the sun can beat the En- 
glish for ill-politeness ; for my part, I hate the very sight of them • 
and so I shall only just visit a person of quality or two of my 


EVPXINA. 


59 


particular acquaintance, and then I shall go back again to 
France.” 

“Ay, dc,” cried he; “and then go to the devil together, for 
that’s the fittest voyage for the French and the quality.” 

“We’ll take care, however,” cried the stranger with great 
vehemence, “ not to admit none of your vulgar, unmannered 
English among us.” 

“ Oh, never fear,” returned he coolly, “ we sha’n’t dispute the 
point with you ; you and the quality may have the devil all to 
yourselves.” : ■> 

Desirous of changing the subject of conversation which now 
became very alarming. Miss Mirvan called out, “ Lord, how slow 
the man drives !” 

“Never mind, Moll,” said her father “I’ll warrant you he’ll 
drive fast enough to-morrow, when you are going to Howard 
Grove.” 

“ To Howard Grove !” exclaimed the stranger ; “ why, mon 
Dieu, do you know Lady Howard ?” 

“ Why, what if we do ?” answered he ; “ that’s nothing to you ; 
she’s none of yow?* quality. I’ll promise you.” 

“Who told you that?” cried she; “you don’t know nothing 
about the matter ! besides you are the ill-bredest person I ever 
see ; and as to your knowing Lady Howard, I don’t believe no 
such a thing unless indeed you are her steward.” 

The captain, swearing terribly, said, with great fury, “ You 
would much sooner be taken for her washwoman.” 

“Her washwoman indeed! — Ha, ha, ha! why you ha’n’t no 
eyes; did you ever see a washwoman in such a gowm as this 1 — 
Besides, I’m no such mean person ; for I’m as good as Lady 
Howard, and as rich too, and besides, I’m now come to England 
to visit her.” - 

“ You may spare yourself that there trouble,” said the captain ; 
“she has paupers enough about her already.” 

“Paupers, mister 1 — no more a pauper than yourself, nor so 
much neither 1 — but you are a low, dirty fellow, and I sha’n’t 
stoop to take no more notice of you.” 


60 


EVELUSTA. 


“ Dirty fellow !” exclaimed the captain, seizing both her wrists ; 
hark you Mrs. Frog, you’d best hold your tongue ; for I must 
make bold' to tell you, if you don’t that I shall make no ceremony 
of tripping you out of the window, and there you may lie in 
the mud till some of your monseers come to help you out of 
it.” 

Their increasing passion quite terrified us ; and Mrs. Mir van 
was beginning to remonstrate with the captain when we were all 
silenced by what follows. 

“ Let me go, villain that you are ! let me go, or I’ll promise 
you I’ll get you put in prison for this usage. I’m no common 
person, I assure you ; and, ma fo% I’ll go to Justice Fielding about 
you ; for I’m a person of fashion and I’ll make you know it, or 
my name ain’t Duval.” 

I heard no more : amazed, frightened and unspeakably shocked, 
an exclamation of “ Gracious Heaven P' escaped me, and more 
dead than alive, I sunk into Mrs. Mirvan’s arms. But let me 
draw a veil over a scene too cruel for a heart so compassionately 
tender as yours : it is sufficient that you know this supposed for- 
eigner proved to be Madame Duval, the grandmother of your 
Evelina ! 

0 sir, to discover so near a relation in a woman who had thus 
introduced herself ! what would become of me, were it not for 
you my protector, my friend, and my refuge ? 

My extreme concern and Mrs. Mirvan’s surprise immediately 
betrayed me. But I will not shock you with the manner of her 
acknowledging me, or the bitterness, the grossness — I cannot 
otherwise express myself — with which she spoke of those un- 
bappy past transactions you have so pathetically related to me. 
All the misery of a much injured parent, dear though never seen 
— regretted, though never known, crowded so forcibly upon my 
memory, that they rendered this interview — one only excepted, 
the most afflicting I can ever know. 

When we stopped at her lodgings she desired me to accom- 
pany her into the house, and said she could easily procure a room 
for me to sleep in. Alarmed and trembling, I turned to Mrs. 


EVELINA. 


61 


Mirvan. “ My daughter, madam,’’ said that sweet woman, “ can- 
not so abruptly part with her young friend ; you must allow a 
little time to wean them from each other.” 

“ Pardon me, ma’am,” answered Madame Duval (w^ho from 
the time of her being knowm somewhat softened her manners), 
“ miss can’t possibly be so nearly connected to this child as I 
am.” 

“No matter for that,” cried the captain (who espoused my 
cause to satisfy his own pique, though an awkward apology had 
passed between them), “ she was sent to us ; and so d’ye see, we 
don’t choose to part with her.” 

I promised to w'ait upon her at what time she pleased the next 
day ; and, after a short debate, she desired me to breakfast with 
her, and we proceeded to Queen-Anne street. 

What an unfortunate adventure; I could not close my eyes 
the whole night. A thousand times I wished I had never left 
Berry Hill : however, my return thither shall be accelerated to the 
utmost of my power ; and, once more in that abode of tranquil 
happiness, I will suffer no temptation to allure me elsewhere. 

Mrs. Mirvan was so kind as to accompany me to Madame 
Duval’s house this morning. The captain, too, offered his ser- 
vices ; which I declined, from a fear she should suppose I meant 
to insult her. 

She frowned most terribly upon Mrs. Mirvan ; but she receiv- 
ed me with as much tenderness as I believe she is capable of feel- 
ing. Indeed, our meeting seems really to have affected her ; for 
when, overcome by the variety of emotions which the sight of 
her occasioned, I almost fainted in her arms, she burst into tears, 
and said, “ Let me not lose my poor daughter a second time !” 
This unexpected humanity softened me extremely ; but she very 
soon excited my warmest indignation, by the ungrateful mention 
she made of the best of men, ny dear and most generous bene- 
factor. However, grief and anger mutually gave w^ay to terror, 
upon her avowing the intention of her visiting England was to 
make me return with her to France. This, she said, was a plan 
she had formed from the instant she had heard of my birth ; 


62 


EVELINA. 


which, she protested, did not reach her ears till I must have been 
twelve years of age ; but Monsieur Duval, who she declared was 
the worst husband in the w^orld, would not permit her to do any 
thing she wished : he had been dead but three months ; which, 
had been employed in arranging certain affairs, that were no 
sooner settled than she set oflf for England. She was already out 
of mourning, for she said nobody here could tell how long she 
had been a widow. 

She must have been married very early in life : what her age 
is I do not know : but she really looks to be less than fifty. She 
dresses very gaily, paints very high, and the traces of former- 
beauty are still very visible in her face. 

I know not when, or how, this visit would have ended, had 
not the captain called for Mrs. Mirvan, and absolutely insisted 
upon my attending her. He is become, very suddenly, so warm- 
ly my friend, that I quite dread his officiousness. Mrs. Mirvan, 
how^ever, whose principal study seems to he healing those wounds 
which her husband inflicts, appeased Madame Duval’s wrath, by a 
very polite invitation to drink tea, and spend the evening here. 
Not without great difficulty was the captain prevailed upon to 
defer his journey some time longer ; but wdiat could be done ? 
It would have been indecent for me to have quitted town the- 
very instant I discovered that Madame Duval w'as in it; and to 
have staid here solely under her protection — Mrs. Mirvan, thank 
Heaven, was too kind for such a thought. That she should fol- 
low us to Howard Grove I almost equally dreaded. It is there- 
fore determined that we remain in London for some days, or a 
week ; though the captain has declared that the old French hag, 
as he is pleased to call her, shall fare never the better for it. 

My only hope is to get safe to Berry Hill; wffiere, counselled 
and sheltered by you, I shall have nothing more to fear. Adieu, 
my ever dear and most honouretl sir I I shall have no happiness 
till I am again with you. 


EVELINA. 


63 


LETTER XV. 

Mr. Villars to Evelina. 

Berry Hill, April 16. 

In the belief and hope that my Evelina would, ere now, have 
bid adieu to London, I had intended to have deferred writing 
till I heard of her return to Howard Grove ; but the letter I 
have this moment received, with intelligence of Madame Duval’s 
arrival in England, demands an immediate answer. 

Her journey hither equally grieves and alarms me. How 
much did I pity my child, when I read of a discovery at once so 
unexpected and unwished ! I have long dreaded this meeting and 
its consequence ; to claim you seems naturally to follow acknowl- 
edging you. I am well acquainted with her disposition, and have 
for many years foreseen the contest which now threatens us. 

Cruel as are the circumstances of this affair, you must not, my 
love, suffer it to depress your spirits ; remember, that while life 
is lent me, I will devote it to your service : and, for future time, 
I will make such provision as shall seem to me most conducive 
to your future happiness. Secure of my protection, and relying 
on my tenderness, let no apprehensions of Madame Duval disturb 
your peace ; conduct yourself towards her with all the respect 
and deference due to so near a relation, remembering always that 
the failure of duty on her part can by no means justify any neg- 
lect on yours. Indeed, the mofe forcibly you are struck with 
improprieties and misconduct in another, the greater should be 
your observance and diligence to avoid even the shadow of sim- 
ilar errors. Be careful, therefore, that no remissness of attention, 
no indifference of obliging, make known to her the independence 
I assure you of; but when she fixes the time for leaving Eng- 
land, trust to me the task of refusing your attending her ; disa- 
greeable to myself, I own, it will be ; yet to you it would be im- 
proper, if not impossible. 

In regard to her opinion of me, I am more sorry than sur- 


64 


EVELINA. 


prised at her determined blindness ; the palliation which she 
feels the want of, for her own conduct, leads her to seek for fail- 
ings in all who were concerned in those unhappy transactions 
which she has so much reason to lament. And this, as it is the 
cause, so we must in some measure consider it as the excuse of 
her inveteracy. 

How grateful to me are your wishes to return to Berry Hill ! 
Your lengthened stay in London, and the dissipation in which I 
find you are involved, fill me with uneasiness. I mean not, how- 
ever, that I would have you sequester yourself from the party to 
which you belong, since Mrs. Mirvan might thence infer a reproof 
which your youth and her kindness would render inexcusable. 
I will not, therefore, enlarge upon this subject ; but content 
myself with telling you, that I shall heartily rejoice when I hear 
of your safe arrival at Howard Grove, for which place I hope 
you will be preparing at the time you receive this letter. 

I cannot too much thank you, my best Evelina, for the 
minuteness of your communications. Continue to me this indul- 
gence, for I should be miserable if in ignorance of your proceed- 
ings. 

How new to you is the scene of life in which you are engaged ! 
— balls, plays, operas, ridottos ! — Ah, my child ! at your return 
hither, how will you bear the change ? My heart trembles for 
your future tranquillity. Yet I will hope every thing from the 
unsullied whiteness of your soul, and the native liveliness of 
your disposition. 

I am sure I need not say how much more I was pleased with 
the mistakes of your inexperience at the private ball thaji with 
the attempted adoption of more fashionable manners at the 
ridotto. Bat your confusion and mortifications were such as to 
entirely silence all reproofs on my part. 

I hope you will see no more of Sir Clement Willoughby, whose 
conversation and boldness are extremely disgustful to me. I was 
gratified by the good-nature of Lord Orville, upon your making 
use of his name ; but I hope you will never again put it to such 
a trial. 


EVELINA. 


65 


Heaven bless thee, my dear child ! and grant that neither 
misfortune nor vice may ever rob thee of that gayety of heart, 
which, resulting from innocence, while it constitutes your own, 
contributes also to the felicity of all who know you ! 

Arthur Yillars. 


LETTER XVI. 

Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 

Queen-Anne-street, Thursday morning, April 14. 

Before our dinner was over yesterday Madame Duval came 
to tea ; though it will lessen your surprise to hear that it was 
near five o’clock, for we never dine till the day is almost over. 
She was asked into another room while the table was cleared, 
and then was invited to partake of the dessert. 

She was attended by a French gentleman, whom she introduced 
by the name of Monsieur du Bois ; Mrs. Mirvan received them 
both with her usual politeness ; but the captain looked very 
much displeased ; and after a short silence, very sternly said to 
Madame Duval, “Pray, who asked you to bring that there spark 
with you ?” 

“ Oh,” cried she, “ I never go nowhere without him.” 

Another short silence ensued, which was terminated by the 
captain’s turning roughly to the foreigner, and saying, “ Do you 
know, monseer^ that you are the first Frenchman I ever let come 
into my house ?” 

Monsieur du Bois made a profound bow. He speaks no Eng- 
lish, and understands it so imperfectly that he might possibly 
imagine he had received a compliment. 

Mrs. Mirvan endeavoured to divert the captain’s ill-humour by 
starting new subjects : but he left to her all the trouble of support- 
ing them, and leaned back in his chair in gloomy silence, except 
when any opportunity oflfered of uttering some sarcasm upon the 
French. Finding her efforts to render the evening agreeable 


66 


EVELINA. 


were fruitless, Mrs. Mirvan proposed a party to Ranelagh. Mad- 
ame Duval joyfully consented to it ; and the captain, though he 
railed against the dissipation of the women, did not oppose it : 
and therefore Maria and I ran up stairs to dress ourselves. 

Before we were ready, word was brought us that Sir Clement 
Willoughby was in the drawing-room. He introduced himself 
under the pretence of inquiring after all our healths, and entered 
the room with the easy air of an old acquaintance ; though Mrs. 
Mirvan confesses that he seemed embarrassed when he found 
how coldly he was received, not only by the captain, but by her- 
self. 

I was extremely disconcerted at the thoughts of seeing this 
man again, and did not go down stairs till I was called to tea. 
He was then deeply engaged in a discourse upon French manners 
with Madame Duval and the captain ; and the subject seemed so 
entirely to engross him, that he did not, at first, observe my 
entrance into the room. Their conversation was supported with 
great vehemence ; the captain roughly maintaining the superiority 
of the English in every particular, and Madame Duval warmly 
refusing to allow-of it in any : while Sir Clement exerted all his 
powers of argument and of ridicule, to second and strengthen 
whatever was advanced by the captain ; for he had the sagacity 
to discover that he could take no method so efiectual for making 
the master of the house his friend as to make Madame Duval his 
enemy ; and, indeed, in a very short time, he had reason to con- 
gratulate himself upon his successful discernment. 

As soon as he saw me he made a most respectful bow, and 
hoped I had not suffered from the fatigue of the ridotto : I made 
no other answer than a slight inclination of the head, for I was 
very much ashamed of that whole affair. He then returned to 
the disputants ; where he managed the argument so skilfully, at 
once provoking Madame Duval and delighting the captain, that I 
could not forbear admiring his address, though I condemned his 
subtlety. Mrs. Mirvan, dreading such violent antagonists, at- 
tempted frequently to change the subject ; and she might have 
succeeded, but for the interposition of Sir Clement, who would 


EVELINA. 


67 


not suffer it to be given up, and supported it with such humour 
and satire, that he seems to have won the captain’s heart ; though 
their united forces so enraged and overpowered Madame Duval 
that she really trembled with passion. 

I was very glad when Mrs. Mirvan said it was time to be gone. 
Sir Clement arose to take leave ; but the captain very cordially 
invited him to join our party ; he had an engagement, he said, 
but would give it up to have that pleasure. 

Some little confusion ensued in regard to our manner of set- 
ting off. Mrs. Mirvan offered Madame Duval a place in her 
coach, and proposed that we four females should go all together ; 
however, this she rejected, declaring she would by no means go 
so far without a gentleman, and wondering so polite a lady could 
make so English a proposal. Sir Clement Willoughby said his 
chariot was waiting at the door, and begged to know if it could 
be of any use. It was at last decided that a hackney-coach 
should be called for Monsieur du Bois and Madame Duval, in 
which the captain, and, at his request. Sir Clement, went also. 
Mrs. and Miss Mirvan and I had a peaceful and comfortable ride 
by ourselves. 

1 doubt not but they quarrelled all the way ; for when we met 
at Ranelagh every one seemed out of humour ; and though we 
joined parties, poor Madame Duval was avoided as much as pos- 
sible by all but me. 

The room was so very much crowded, that but for the uncom- 
mon assiduity of Sir Clement Willoughby we should not have 
been able to procure a box (which is the name given to the 
arched recesses that are appropriated for tea-parties) till half the 
company had retired. As we were taking possession of our 
places, some ladies of Mrs. Mirvan’s acquaintance stopped to speak 
to her, and persuaded her to take a round with them. When she 
returned to us, what was my surprise to see that Lord Orville had 
joined her party ! The ladies walked on : Mrs. Mirvan seated 
herself, and made a slight though respectful invitation to Lord 
Orville to drink his tea with us; which to my no small conster- 
nation, he accepted. 


68 


EVELINA. 


I felt a confusion unspeakable at again seeing him, from he 
recollection of the ridotto adventure : nor did my situation lessen 
it; for I was seated between Madame Duval and Sir Clement, 
who seemed as little as myself to desire Lord Orville’s presence. 
Indeed, the continual wrangling and ill-breeding of Captain Mir- 
van and Madame Duval made me blush that I belonged to them. 
And poor Mrs. Mirvan and her amiable daughter had still less 
reason to be satisfied. 

A general silence ensued after he was seated : his appearance, 
from difierent motives, gave a universal restraint to everybody. 
What his own reasons were for honouring us with his company I 
cannot imagine; unless, indeed, he had a curiosity to know 
whether I should invent any new impertinence concerning him. 

The first speech was made by Madame Duval, who said, “ It’s 
quite a shocking thing to see ladies come to so genteel a place 
as Ranelagh with hats on ; it has a monstrous vulgar look : I 
can’t think what they wear them for. There is no such a thing 
to be seen in Paris.” 

“ Indeed,” cried Sir Clement, “ I must own myself no advocate 
for hats ; I am sorry the ladies ever invented or adopted so tan- 
talizing a fashion : for where there is beauty, they only serve to 
shade it ; and where there is none, to excite a most unavailing 
curiosity. I fancy they were originally worn by some young and 
whimsical coquette.” 

“ More likely,” answered the captain, “ they were invented by 
some wrinkled old hag, who’d a mind for to keep the young 
fellows in chase, let them be never so weary.” 

“ I don’t know what you may do in England,” cried Madame 
Duval ; “ but I know in Paris no woman needn’t be at such a 
trouble as that to be taken very genteel notice of.” 

“ Why, will you pretend for to say,” returned the captain, “ that 
they don’t distinguish the old from the young there as well as 
here ?” 

“They don’t make no distinguishments at all,” said she; 
“ they’re vastly too polite.” 

“ More fools they !” cried the captain, sneeringly. 


EVELINA. 


69 


“Would to heaven,” cried Sir Clement, “that, for our own 
sakes, we Englishmen too were blessed with so accommodating 
a blindness !” 

“ Why the devil do you make such a prayer as that ?” 
demanded the captain : “ them are the first foolish words I’ve 
heard you speak ; but I suppose you’re not much used to that 
sort of work. Did you ever make a prayer before since you 
were a sniveller ?” 

“ Ay, now,” cried Madame Duval, “ that’s another of the 
unpolitenesses of you English, to go to talking of such things as 
that : now in Paris nobody never says nothing about religion, 
no more than about politics.” 

“ Why, then,” answered he, “ it’s a sign they take no more 
care of their souls than of their country, and so both one and 
t’other go to Old Nick.” 

“ Well, if they do,” said she, “ who’s the worse, so long as they 
don’t say nothing about it? It’s the tiresomest thing in the 
world to be always talking of them sort of things, and nobody 
that’s ever been abroad troubles their heads about them.” 

“ Pray, then,” cried the captain, “ since you know so much of 
the matter, be so good as to tell us what they do trouble their 
heads about ? — Hey, Sir Clement ! ha’n’t we a right to know 
that much ?” 

“ A. very comprehensive question,” said Sir Clement, “ and I 
expect much instruction from the lady’s answer.” 

“ Come, madam,” continued the captain, “ never flinch ; speak 
at once ; don’t stop for thinking.” 

“ I assure you I am not going,” answered she ; “ for as to 
what they do do, why they’ve enough to do, I promise you, what 
with one thing or another.” 

“But what, what do they do, these famous monseers?'' de- 
manded the captain; “can’t you tell us ? Do they game ?— or 
drink ?— or fiddle ?— or are they jockeys ?— or do they spend all 
their time in Summering old women ?” 

“ As to that, sir — but indeed I sha’n’t trouble myself to answer 
such a parcel of low questions, so don’t ask me no more about 


EVELINA. 


YO 

it.” And then, to my great vexation, turning to Lord Orville, 
she said, “ Pray, sir, was you ever in Paris ?” 

He only bowed. 

“ And pray, sir, how did you like it ?” 

This comprehensive question, as Sir Clement would have called 
it, though it made him smile, also made him hesitate ; however, 
his answer w'as expressive of his approbation. 

“ I thought you would like it, sir, because you look so like a 
gentleman. As to the captain, and as to that other gentleman, 
why they may very well not like what they don’t know : for I 
suppose, sir, you was never abroad ?” 

“ Only three years, ma’am,” answered Sir Clement, dryly. 

“ Well, that’s very surprising ! I should never have thought 
it : however, I dare say you only kept company with the Eng- 
lish.” 

“ Why, pray, who should he keep company with ?” cried the 
captain : “ what, I suppose you’d have him ashamed of his own 
nation, like some other people not a thousand miles off, on pur- 
pose to make his own nation ashamed of him ?” 

“ I’m sure it would be a very good thing if you’d go abroad 
yourself.” 

“ How will you make out that, hey, madam ? come, please to 
tell me, where would be the good of that?” 

“ Where ! why a great deal. They’d make quite another 
person of you.” 

“ What, I suppose you’d have me to learn to cut capers ? — and 
dress like a monkey? — and palaver in. French gibberish ? — hey, 
would you ? — and powder, and daub, and make myself up, like 
some other folks ?” 

“ I would have you to learn to be more politer, sir, and not to 
talk to ladies in such a rude, old-fashioned way as this. You, 
sir, as have been in Paris,” (again addressing herself to Lord 
Orville), “ can tell this English gentleman how he’d be despised, 
if he was to talk in such an ungenteel manner as this before any 
foreigners. Why, there isn’t a hairdresser, nor a shoemaker, 
nor nobody, that wouldn’t blush to be in your company.” 


EVELINA. 


71 


“ Why, look ye, madam,” answered the captain, “ as to your 
hair-pinchers, and shoeblacks, you may puff off* their manners, 
and welcome; and I am heartily glad you like ’em so well : but 
as to me, since you must needs make so free of your advice, I 
must e’en tell you, I never kept company with any such gentry.” 

“ Come, ladies and gentlemen,” said Mrs. Mirvan, “ as many 
of you as have done tea, I invite to walk with me.” 

Maria and I started up instantly ; Lord Orville followed ; and 
I question whether we were not half-round the room ere the 
angry disputants knew that we had left the box. 

As the husband of Mrs. Mirvan had borne so large a share in 
the disagreeable altercation, Lord Orville forbore to make any 
comments upon it; so that the subject was immediately dropped, 
and the conversation became calmly sociable and politely cheer- 
ful, and, to everybody but me, must have been highly agreeable ; 
but as to myself, I was so eagerly desirous of making some 
apology to Lord Orville, for the impertinence of which he must 
have thought me guilty at the ridotto, and yet so utterly unable 
to assume sufficient courage to speak to him concerning an 
* affair in which I had so terribly exposed myself, that I hardly 
ventured to say a word all the time we were walking. Besides, 
the knowledge of his contemptuous opinion haunted and dis- 
spirited me, and made me fear he might possibly misconstrue 
whatever I should say. So that, far from enjoying a conversa- 
tion which might, at any other time, have delighted me, I con- 
tinued silent, uncomfortable, and ashamed. 0 sir, shall I ever 
again involve myself in so foolish an embarrassment? I am 
sure that if I do I shall deserve yet greater mortification. 

We were not joined by the rest of the party till we had taken 
three or four turns round the room : and then they were so 
quarrelsome, that Mrs. Mirvan complained of being fatigued, and 
proposed going home. No one dissented. Lord Orville joined 
another party, having first made an offer of his services, which 
the gentlemen declined, and we proceeded to an outward room, 
where we waited for the carriages. It was settled that we 
should return to town in the same manner we came to Ranelagh ; 


72 


EVELINA. 


and, accordingly, Monsieur du Bois handed Madame Duval into 
a hackney-coach, and was just preparing to follow her, when she 
screamed, and jumped hastily out, declaring she was wet through 
all her clothes. Indeed, upon examination, the coach was found 
to be in a dismal condition ; for the weather proved very bad» 
and the rain had, though I know not how, made its way into the 
carriage. 

Mrs. and Miss Mirvan and myself were already disposed of as 
before ; but no sooner did the captain hear this account, than, 
without any ceremony, he was so civil as to immediately take 
possession of the vacant seat in his own coach, leaving Madame 
Duval and Monsieur du Bois to take care of themselves. As to 
Sir Clement Willoughby, his own chariot was in waiting. 

I instantly begged permission to offer Madame Duval my own 
place, and made a motion to get out; but Mrs. Mirvan stopped 
me, saying that I should then be obliged to return to town with 
only the foreigner, or Sir Clement. 

“ 0, never mind the old beldam,” cried the captain ; “ she’s 
weather-proof. I’ll answer for her ; and besides, as we are all, 
I hope, English^ why, she’ll meet with no worse than she expects 
from us.” 

“I do not mean to defend her,” said Mrs. Mirvan; “but 
indeed, as she belongs to our party, we ^cannot with any decency 
leave the place till she is, by some means, accommodated.” 

“Lord, my dear,” cried the captain, whom the distress of 
Madame Duval had put into very good-humour, “ why she’ll 
break her heart if she meets with any civility from a filthy 
Englishman.” 

Mrs. Mirvan, however, prevailed ; and we all got out of the 
coach to wait till Madame Duval could meet with some better 
carriage. We found her, attended by Monsieur du Bois, stand- 
ing among the servants, and very busy wiping her ndgligd, and 
endeavouring to save it from being stained by the wet, as she 
said it was a new Lyons silk. Sir Clement Willoughby offered 
her the use of his chariot, but she had been too much piqued by 
his raillery to accept it. We waited some time, but in vain ; for 


. EVELINA. 


73 


no hackney-coach could be procured. The captain, at last, was 
persuaded to accompany Sir Clement himself, and we four 
females were handed into Mrs. Mirvan’s carriage, though not be- 
fore Madame Duval had insisted upon our making room for Mon- 
sieur du Bois, to which the captain only consented in preference 
to being incommoded by him in Sir Clement’s chariot. 

Our party drove off first. We were silent and unsociable ; 
for the difficulties attending this arrangement had made every 
one languid and fatigued. Unsociable, I must own we contin- 
ued ; but very short was the duration of our silence, as we had 
not proceeded thirty yards before every voice was heard at once 
— for the coach broke down ! I suppose we concluded, of 
course, that we were all half-killed, by the violent shrieks that 
seemed to come from every mouth. The chariot was stopped, 
the servants came to our assistance, and we were taken out of 
the carriage, without having been at all hurt. The night was 
dark and wet ; but I had scarce touched the ground when I was 
lifted suddenly from it by Sir Clement Willoughby, who begged 
permission to assist me, though he did not wait to have it grant- 
ed, but carried me in his arms back to Ranelagh. 

He inquired very earnestly if I was not hurt by the accident. 
I assured him I was perfectly safe, and free from injury; and 
desired he would leave me and return to the rest of the party, 
for I was very uneasy to know whether they had been equally 
fortunate. He told me he was happy in being honoured with 
my commands, and would joyfully execute them ; but insisted 
upon first conducting me to a warm room, as I had not wholly 
escaped being wet. He did not regard my objections; but 
made me follow him to an apartment, where we found an excel- 
lent fire, and some company waiting for carriages. I readily ac- 
cepted a seat, and then begged he would go. 

And go, indeed, he did ; but he returned in a moment telling 
me that the rain was more violent than ever, and that he had 
sent his servants to offer their assistance and acquaint the Mir- 
vans of my situation. I was very mad that he would not go 

4 


74 : 


EVELINA. • 


himself; hut as my acquaintance with him was so very slight, I 
did not think proper to urge him contrary to his inclination. 

Well, he drew a ciiair close to mine; and, after again inquir- 
ing* how I did, said, in a low voice, “You will pardon me, Miss 
Anville, if the eagerness I feel to vindicate myself induces me to 
siiatch this opportunity of making sincere acknowledgments for 
the impertinence with which I tormented voii at the last ridotto. 

I can assure you, madam, I have been a true and sorrowful pen- 
itent ever since; but — shall I tell you honestly what encouraged 
me to ” 

He stopped, but I said nothing ; for I thought instantly of the 
conveisatioii Miss Mirvan had overheard, and supposed he was 
going to tell me himself what part Lord Orville had borne in it ; 
and really I did not wish to hear it repeated. Indeed, the rest 
of his speech convinces me that such was his intention ; with 
what view I know not, except to make a merit of his defend- 
ing me. 

“ And yet,” he continued, “ my excuse may only expose my 
own credulity, and want of judgment and penetration. I will, 
therefore merely beseech your pardon, and hope that some future 
time ” 

Just then the door was opened by Sir Clements servant, and 
I had the pleasure of seeing the captain, Mrs. and Miss Mirvan 
enter the room. 

“ O, ho !” cried the former, “ You have got a good warm berth 
here ; but we shall beat up your quarters. Here, Lucy, Moll, 
come to the fire and dry your trumpery. But, hey-day ! why, 
where’s old Madam French ?” 

“ Good God !” cried I, “ is not Madame Duval then with 
you ?” 

“ With me ! No, — thank God.” 

I was very uneasy to know what might have become of her ; 
and, if they would have sufifered me, I should have gone out in 
search of her myself; but all the servants were despatched to find 
her and the captain said we might be very sure her French 
beau would take care of her. 


EVELINA. 


75 


We waited some time without any tidings, and were soon the ‘ 
only party in the room. My une^^siness increased so much, that 
Sir Clement now made a voluntary ofter of seeking her. How- 
ever, the same moment that he opened tlie door with this design, 
she presented herself at it attended by Monsieur du Bois. 

“I was this instant, madam,” said he, “ coming to seek for 
you.” 

“You are mighty good, truly,” cried she, “ to come when all 
the mischiefs over.” 

She then entered, — in such a condition ! — entirely covered 
with mud and in so great a rage, it was with diflScuIty she 
could speak. We all expressed our concern, and offered our 
assistance, except the captain, who no sooner beheld her than he 
burst out into a loud laugh* 

We endeavoured, by our enquiries and condolements, to pre- 
vent her attending to him ; and she was for some time so wholly 
engrossed by her anger and her distresses, that we succeeded 
without much trouble. We begged her to inform us how this 
accident had happened. “ How !” repeated she, “ why it was all 
along of your all going away ; and there, poor Monsieur du Bois 
— but it wasn’t his fault, for he’s as bad off as me.” 

All eyes were then turned to Monsieur du Bois, whose clothes 
were in the same miserable plight with those of Madame Duval, 
and who, wet, shivering, and disconsolate, had crept to the 
fire. 

The captain laughed yet more heartily ; while Mrs. Mirvan, 
ashamed of his rudeness, repeated her enquiries to Madame Du- 
val ; who answered, “ Why, as we were a-coming along, all in 
the rain. Monsieur du Bois was so obliging, though I’m sure it 
was an unlucky obligingness for me, as to lift me up in his arms to 
carry me over a place that was ankle-deep in mud ; but instead 
of my being ever the better for it, just as we were in the worst 
part, — I’m sure I wish we had been fifty miles off, — for somehow 
or other his foot slipped, — at least I. suppose so, — though I can’t 
think how it happened, for I’m no such great weight ; but how- 
ever that was, down we both came together, all in the mud ; and 


76 


EVELINA. 


the more we tried to get up, the more deeper we got covered with 
the nastiness — and my new Lyons neglige, too, quite spoiled 1 
However, it’s well we got up at all, for we might have laid there 
till now, for aught you all cared ; nobody never came near 
us.” 

This recital put the captain into an ecstasy ; he went from the 
lady to the gentleman, and from the gentleman to the lady’ to 
enjoy alternately the sight of their distresses. He really shouted 
with pleasure ; and shaking Monsieur du Bois strenuously by the 
hand, wished him joy of having touched English ground ; and 
then he held the candle to Madame Duval, that he might have a 
more complete view of her disaster, declaring repeatedly that he 
had never been better pleased in his life. 

The rage of poor Madame Duval was unspeakable ; she dashed 
the candle out of his hand, stamped upon the floor and at last 
spit in his face. 

This action seemed immediately to calm them both, as the joy 
of the captain was converted into resentment, and the wrath of 
Madame Duval into fear : for. he put his hands upon her should- 
ers, and gave her so violent a shake that she screamed out for 
help ; assuring her, at the same time, that if she had been one 
ounce less old, or less ugly, she should have had it all returned 
in her own face. 

Monsieur du Bois, who had seated himself very quietly at the 
fire, approached them, and expostulated very warmly with the 
captain ; but he was neither understood nor regarded ; and 
Madame Duval was not released till she quite sobbed with 
passion. 

When they were parted, I entreated het* to permit the wo- 
man who has the charge of he lady’s cloaks to assist in drying 
her clothes ; she consented and we did what was possible 
to save her from catching cold. We were obliged to wait in 
this disagreeable situation near an hour before a hackney-coach 
could be found ; and then w'e were disposed in the same manner 
as before our accident. 

I am going this morning to see poor Madame Duval, and to 


EVELINA. 


TT 


enquire after her health, which I think must have suffered by 
her last night’s misfortunes ; though, indeed, she seemed to be 
naturally .strong and hearty. 

Adieu, my dear sir, till to-morrow. 

LETTER XVII. 

Evelina in continuation. 

Friday morning April 15. 

Sir Clement Willoughby called here yesterday at noon, and 
Captain Mirvan invited him to dinner. For my part I spent the 
day in a manner the most uncomfortable imaginable. 

I found Madame Duval at breakfast in bed, though Monsieur 
du Bois was in the chamber ; which so much astonished me, that 
I was, involuntarily, retiring, without considering how odd an 
appearance my retreat would have, when Madame Duval called 
me back, and laughed very heartily at my ignorance of foreign 
customs. 

The conversation, however, very soon took a more serious turn ; 
for she began with great bitterness to inveigh against the bar- 
barous brutality of that fellow the captain^ and the horrible ill- 
breeding of the English in general ; declaring she would make 
her escape with all expedition from so beastly a nation. But 
nothing can be more strangely absurd than to hear politeness 
recommended in language so repugnant to it as that of Madame 
Duval. 

She lamented, very mournfully, the fate of her Lyons silk ; and 
protested she had rather have parted with all the rest of her 
wardrobe, because it was the first gown she had bought to wear 
upon leaving off her weeds. She has a very bad . cold, and Mon- 
sieur du Bois is so hoarse he can hardly speak. 

She insisted upon my staying with her all day ; as she intended, 
she said, to introduce me to some of my own relations. I would 
very fain have excused myself, but she did not allow me any 
choice. 


EVELINA. 


Y8 

Till the arrival of these relations, one continued series of ques- 
tions on her side, and of answers on mine, filled up all the time 
we passed together. Her curiosity w^as insatiable ; she enquired 
into every action of my life, and every particular that had fallen 
under my observation in the lives of all I knew. Again, she was 
so cruel as to avow the most inveterate rancour against the sole 
benefactor her deserted child and grandchild had met with ; and 
such was the indignation her ingratitude raised, that I would 
actually have quitted her presence and house, had she not, in a 
manner the most peremptory, absolutely forbade me. But what, 
good Heaven ! can induce her to such shocking injustice. O, 
my friend and father ! I have no command of myself when this 
subject is started. 

She talked very much of taking me to Paris, and said T greatly 
wanted the polish of a French education. She lamented that I 
had been brought up in the country, which, she observed, had 
given me a very bumpkinish air. However, she bade me not 
despair, for she had known many girls much worse than me who 
had become very fine ladies after a few years’ residence abroad, 
and she particularly instanced a Miss Polly Moore, daughter of 
a chandler’s-shop woman, who, by an accident not worth relating, 
happened to be sent to Paris, where, from an awdcward, ill-bred 
girl, she so much improved that she has since been taken for a 
woman of quality. 

The relations to whom she was pleased to introduce me con- 
sisted of a Mr. Branghton, who is her nephew, and three of his 
children, the eldest of whom is a son, and the two younger are 
daughters. 

Mr. Branghton appears about forty years of age. He does net 
seem to want a common understanding, though he is very con- 
tracted and prejudiced ; he has spent his whole time in the city, 
and I believe feels a great contempt for all who reside else- 
where. 

His son seems weaker in his understanding, and more gay in 
his temper ; but his gayety is that of a foolish overgrown school- 
boy, whose mirth consists in noise and disturbance. He disdains 


EVELINA. 


T9 


his father for his close attention to business and love of money ; 
though he seems himself to have no talents, spirit, or generositv, 
to make him superior to either. His chief delight appears to be 
tormenting and ridiculing his sisters ; who, in return, most heart- 
ily despise him. 

Miss Branghton, the eldest daughter, is by no means ugly ; 
but looks proud, ill-tempered, and conceited. She hates the city, 
though without knowing why ; for it is easy to discover she has 
lived nowhere else. 

Miss Polly Branghton is rather pretty, very foolish, very igno- 
rant, very giddy,’ and, I believe, very good-natured. 

The first half-hour was allotted to making themselves comforta- 
ble ; for they complained of having had a very dirty walk, as 
they came on foot from Snow-hill, where Mr. Branghton keeps a 
silversmith’s shop ; and the young ladies had not only their coats 
to brush and shoes to dr-y, but to adjust their headdresses, which 
their bonnets had totally discomposed. 

The manner in which Madame Duval was pleased to introduce 
me to this family extremely shocked me, “ Here, my dears,” said 
she, “ here’s a relation you little thought of: but you must know 
• my poor daughter Caroline had this child after she had run away 
from me, though I never knew nothing of it, not I, for a long 
while after; for they took care to keep it a secret from me, 
though the poor child has never a friend in the world besides,” 

“Miss seems very tender-hearted, aunt,” said Miss Polly; 
“ and, to be sure, she’s not to blame for her mamma’s uiidutiful- 
ness, for she couldn’t help it.” 

“ Lord, no,” answered she, “ and I never took no notice of it to 
her: for indeed, as to that, my own poor daughter wasn’t so 
much to blame as you may think ; for slic’d never have gone 
astray if it had not been for that meddling old parson I told you 
of.” 

“ If aunt pleases,” said young Mr. Branghton, “ we’ll talk o’ 
something else, for miss looks very uneasylike.” 

The next subject that was chosen was the age of the three 
young Branghtons and myself. The son is twenty ; the daiigh- 


80 


EVELINA. 


ters, upon hearing that I was seventeen, said that was just the 
age of Miss Polly ; but their brother, after a long dispute, proved 
that she was two years older, to the great anger of both sisters, 
who agreed that he was very ill-natured and spiteful. 

When this point was settled, the question was put, which was 
tallest ? — We were desired to measure, as the Bran gh tons were 
all of different opinions. None of them, however, disputed my 
being the tallest in the company ; but, in regard to one another, 
they were extremely quarrelsome; the brother insisted upon 
their measuring /air, and not with heads and heels ; but they 
would by no means consent to lose those privileges of our sex, 
and therefore the young man was casty as shortest ; though he 
appealed to all present upon the injustice of the decree. 

This ceremony over, the young ladies began, very freely, to 
examine my dress, and to interrogate me concerning it, “ Tins 
apron’s your own work, I suppose, miss ? but these sprigs ain’t 
in fashion now. Pray, if it is not impertinent, what might you 
give a yard for this lutestring ? — Do you make your own caps, 
miss ?” and many other questions equally interesting and vvell- 
bred. 

They then asked me how I liked London? and whether I 
should not think the country a very dull place y when I returned 
thither '? “ Miss must try if she can’t get a good husband,’’ said 
Mr. Branghtou, “ and then she may stay and live here.” 

The next topic was public places, or rather the theatres, for 
they knew of no other; and the. merits and defects of all the 
actors and actresses were discussed ; the young man here took 
the lead, and seemed to be very conversant on the subject. But 
during this time, what was my concern, and, suffer me to add, 
my indignation, when I found by some words I occasionally heard 
that Madame Duval was entertaining Mr. Branghton with all the 
most secret and cruel particulars of my situation ! The eldest 
daughter was soon drawn to them by the recital ; the youngest 
and the son still kept their places ; intending, I believe, to divert 
me, though the conversation was all their own. 

In a few minutes. Miss Branghton, coming suddenly up to her 


EVELINA. 


81 


sister, exclaimed, “ Lord, Polly, only think ! Miss never saw her 
papa !” 

“ Lord, how odd !” cried the other ; “ why then, miss, I suppose 
you wouldn’t know him ?” 

This was quite too much for me : I rose hastily, and ran out 
of the room ; but I soon regretted I had so little command of 
myself ; for the two sisters both followed, and insisted upon com- 
forting me, notwithstanding my earnest entreaties to be left 
alone. 

As soon as I returned to the company, Madame Duval said, 
“ Why, my dear, what was the matter with you ? why did you 
run away so ?” 

This question almost made me run again, for T knew not how 
to answer it. But is it not very extraordinary, that she can put 
me in situations so shocking, and then wonder to find me sensible 
of any concern ?” 

Mr. Bra'nghton, junior, now inquired of me whether I had seen 
the Tower, or St. Paul’s Church ; and upon my answering in the 
negative, they proposed making a party to show them to me. 
Among other questoins, they also asked if I had ever seen such a 
thing as an opera? I told them I had. “Well,” said Mr. 
Branghton, “ I never saw one in my life, so long as I’ve lived in 
London ; and I never desire to see one, if I live here as much 
longer.” 

“ Lord, papa,” cried Miss Polly, “ why not ? you might as well 
, for once, for the curiosity of the thing : besides, Miss Pomfret 
saw one, arid she says it was very pretty.” 

“ Miss will think us very vulgar,” said Miss Branghton, “ to 
live in London, and never have been to an opera ; but it’s no 
fault of mine, I assure you, miss, only papa don’t like to go.” . 

The result was, that a party was proposed, and agreed to, for 
some early opportunity. I did not dare contradict them ; but I 
said that my time, while T remained in town, was at the disposal 
of Mrs. Mirvan. However, I am sure I will not attend them, if I 
can possibly avoid so doing. 

When we parted Madame Duval desired to see me the 

4 ^ 


EVELINA. 


next day ; and the Branghtons told me, that the first time I 
went towards Snow Hill they should be very glad if I would call 
upon them. 

I wish we may not meet again till that time arrives. 

I am sure I shall not be very ambitious of being known to any 
more of my relations, if they have any resemblance to those 
whose acquaintance I have been introduced to already. 


LETTER XYIII. 

Evelina in continuation. 

I HAD just finished my letter to you this morning, when a vio- 
lent rapping at the door made me run down stairs ; and who 
should I see in the drawing-room but — Lord Orville ! 

He was quite alone, for the family had not assembled to break- 
fast. He inquired first of mine, then of the health of Mrs. and 
Miss Mirvan, with a degree of concern that rather surprised me, 
till he said that he had just been informed of the accident we 
had met with at Ranelagh. He expressed his sorrow upon the 
occasion with the utmost politeness, and lamented that he had 
not been so fortunate as to hear of it in time to offer his services. 
“But I think,” he added, “ Sir .Clement Willoughby had the 
honour of assisting you ?” 

“ He was with daptain Mirvan, my lord.” 

“ I had heard of his being of your party.” 

I hope that flighty man has not been telling Lord Orville he 
only assisted me ! However, he did not pursue the subject ; but 
said, “This accident, though extremely unfortunate, will not I 
hope, be the means of frightening you from gracing Ranelagh 
with your presence in future ?” 

“ Our time, my lord, for London is almost expired already.” 

“ Indeed ! l)o you leave town so very soon ?” 

“ 0 yes, my lord ; our stay has already exceeded our inten- 
tions.” 


EVELINA. 


83 


“ Are you then so particularly partial to the country 

“We merely came to town, my lord, to meet Captain Mir- 
van ?” 

“ And does Miss Anville feel no concern at the idea of the 
many mourners her absence will occasion ?” 

“ 0, my lord. I’m sure you don’t think — ” I stopped there ; for 
indeed, I hardly knew what I was going to say. My foolish 
embarrassment, 1 suppose was the cause of what followed ; for he 
came to me, and took my hand, saying, “ I do think that who- 
ever has once seen Miss Anville must receive an impression 
never to *be forgotten.” 

This compliment, from Lord Orville, so surprised me, that I 
could not speak ; but felt myself change colour, and stood for 
some moments silent, and looking down ; however, the instant I 
recollected my situation, I withdrew my hand, and told him that 
I would see if Mrs. Mirvan was not dressed. He did not oppose 
me ; so away I went. 

I met them all on the stairs, and returned with them to break- 
fast. 

I have since been extremely angry with myself for neglecting 
so excellent an opportunity of apologizing for my behaviour at 
the ridotto : but, to own the truth, that affair never once occur- 
ed to me during the short tete-d-tUe which we had together. But, 
if ever we should happen to be so situated again, I will certainly 
mention it ; for I am inexpressibly concerned at the thought of 
his harbouring an opinion that I am bold or impertinent, and I 
could almost kill myself for having given him the shadow of a 
reason for so shocking an idea. 

But was it not very odd that he should make me such a com- 
pliment ? I expected it not from him ; but gallantry, I believe, is 
common to all men, whatever other qualities they may have in 
particular. 

Our breakfast was .the most agreeable meal, if it may be 
called a meal^ that we have had since we came to town. 
Indeed, but for Madame Duval, I should like London extremely. 


84 


EVELINA. 


The conversation of Lord Orville is really delightful. Ills 
manners are so elegant, so gentle, so unassuming, that they at 
once engage esteem and diffuse complacency. Far from being 
indolently satisfied with his own accomplishments, as I have 
already observed many men here are though without any preten- 
sions to his merit, he is most assiduously attentive to please and 
to serve all who are in his company ; and though his success is 
invariable, he never manifests the smallest degree of conscious- 
ness. 

I could wish that yoM, my dearest sir, knew Lord Orville, 
because I am sure you would love him ; and I have felt that wish 
for no- other person I have seen since I came to London. I some- 
times imagine, that when his youth is flown, his vivacity abated, 
and his life is devoted to retirement, he will, perhaps, resemble 
him whom I most love and honour. His present sweetness, 
politeness, and diffidence seem to promise in future the same 
benevolence, dignity, and goodness. But I must not expatiate 
upon this subject. 

When Lord Orville was gone, — and he made but a very short 
visit, — I was preparing, most reluctantly, to wait upon Madame 
Duval : but Mrs. Mirvan proposed to the captain that she 
should be invited to dinner in Queen- Anne-street ; and he read- 
ily consented, for he said he wished to ask after her Lyons 
neglige. 

The invitation is accepted, and we expect her every moment. 
But to me it is very strange that a woman who is the uncon- 
trolled mistress of her time, fortune, and actions should choose to 
expose herself voluntarily to the rudeness of a man who is openly 
determined to make her his sport. But she has very few 
acquaintance ; and I fancy, scarce knows how to employ her- 
self. 

How great is my obligation to Mrs. Mirvan, for bestowing her 
time in a manner so disagreeable to herself, merely to promote mv 
happiness ! Every dispute in which her undeserving husband 
engages is productive of pain and uneasiness to herself; of this I 


EVELINA. 


85 


am so sensible, that I even besought her not to send to Madame 
Duval ; but she declared she could not bear to have me' pass all 
my time, while in town, with her only. Indeed, she could not 
be more kind to me were she your daughter. 

LETTER XIX. 

Evelina, in continuation. 

Saturday morning, April 16. 

Madame Duval was accompanied by Monsieur du Bois. I 
am surprised that she should choose to introduce him where he 
is so unwelcome : and, indeed, it is strange that they should be 
so constantly together, though I believe I should not have 
taken notice of it, but that Captain Mirvan is perpetually rally- 
ing me upon my grandmamma) 8 beau. 

They were both received by Mrs. Mirvan with her usual good- 
breeding ; but the captain, most provokingly, attacked her imme- 
diately, saying, “ Now, madam, you that have lived abroad, please 
to tell me this here : which did you like best, the warm room at 
Ranelagh, or the cold hath you went into afterward? though, I 
assure you, you look so well, that I should advise you to take 
another dip.” 

“ Ma foi , sir,” cried she, “ nobody asked for your advice, so 
YOU may as well keep it to yourself : besides, it’s no such great 
joke, to be splashed, and to catch cold, and spoil all one’s clothes 
what ever you may think of it.” 

“ Splashed, quoth-a! why I thought you were soused all over. 
Come come, don’t mince the matter ; never spoil a good story ; 
you know you hadn’t a dry thread about you ; ‘ fore George, I 
never shall think on’t without hallooing ! such a poor, forlorn, drag- 
gletailed — gentlewoman ! and poor Monseer French here, like a 
drowned rat, by your side !” 

“ Well, the worse pickle we was in, so much the worser in you 
not to help us ; for you knowed' where we were fast enough, 
because, while I laid in the mud. I’m pretty sure I heard you 


86 


EVELINA. 


snigger: soil’s like enougli you jostled us down yourself; for 
Monsieur du Bois says that he is sure he had a great jolt given 
him, or he shouldn’t have fell.” 

The ‘captain laughed so immoderately, that he really gave me 
also a suspicion that he was not entirely innocent of the charge ; 
however, he disclaimed it very peremptorily. 

“ Why, then,” continued she, “ if you didn’t do that, why didn’t 
you come to help us ?” 

“ Who, I ? — what ! do you suppose I had forgot I was an 
Englishman^ a filthy, beastly Englishman P 

“ Very well, sir, very well ; but I was a fool to expect any bet- 
ter, for it’s all of a piece with the rest ; you know you wanted 
to fling me out of the coach-window, the very first time ever I 
see you : but I’ll never go to Ranelagh with you no more, that 
I’m resolved ; for I dare say, if the horses had runned over me, 
as I laid in that nastiness, you’d never have stirred a step to save 
me.” 

“ Lord, no, to be sure, ma’am, not for the world ! I know your 
opinion of our nation too well to affront you by supposing a 
Frenchman would want my assistance to protect you. Did you 
think that monseer here and I had changed characters, and that 
he should pop you into the mud, and I help vou out of it ? Ha, 
ha, ha!” 

“ 0 very well, sir, laugh on, it’s like your manners ; however, 
if poor Monsieur du Bois hadn’t met with that unlucky accident 
himself, I shouldn’t have wanted nobody’s help.” 

“ 0, I promise you, madam, you’d never have had mine ; I 
knew my distance better : and as to your being a little ducked, 
or so, why, to be sure, monseer and you settled that between 
yourselves, so it was no business of mine.” 

“ What, then, I suppose you want to make me believe as Mon- 
sieur du Bois served me that trick o’ purpose ?” 

“ 0’ purpose ! ay, certainly ; who ever doubted that ? Do you 
think a Frenchman ever made a blunder? If he had been some 
clumsy-footed English fellow, indeed, it might have been acci- 
dental : but what the devil signifies all your hopping and caper- 


EVELINA. 


87 


ing with your dancing-masters, if you can’t balance yourselves 
upright ?” 

In the midst of this dialogue, Sir Clement Willoughby made 
his appearance. He affects to enter the house with the freedom 
of an old acquaintance ; and this very easiness^ which to me is 
astonishing, is what most particularly recommends him to the 
captain. Indeed, he seems very successfully to study all the 
humours of that gentleman. 

After having heartily welcomed him, “ You are just come in 
time, my boy,” said he, “ to settle a little matter of a dispute 
between this here gentlewoman and I. Do you know she has 
been trying to persuade me that she did not above half like the 
ducking monseer gave her t’other night ?” 

“ I should have hoped,” said Sir Clement, with the utmost 
gravity, “ that the friendship subsisting between that lady and 
gentleman would have guarded them against 'any actions pro- 
fessedly disagreeable to each other : but probably, they might 
not have discussed the matter previously ; in which case the 
gentleman^ I must own, seems to have been guilty of inattention, 
since, in my humble opinion, it was his business first to have 
inquired whether the lady preferred soft or hard ground, before 
he dropped her.” 

“ 0 very fine, gentlemen, very fine,” cried Madame Duval ; 
“you may try to set us together by the ears as much as you 
will ; but I’m not such an ignorant person as to be made a fool 
of so easily ; so you needn’t talk no more about it, for I sees into 
your designs.” 

Monsieur du Bois, who was just able to discover the subject 
upon which the conversation turned, made his defence in French, 
with great solemnity : he hoped, he said, that the company 
would, at least, acknowledge he did not come from a nation of 
brutes ; and, consequently, that to wilfully oflfend any lady was, 
to him, utterly impossible ; but that, on the contrary, in endea- 
vouring, as was his duty, to save and guard her, he had himself 
suffered, in a manner which he would forbear to relate, but 
which, he greatly apprehended, he should feel the ill efifects of 


88 


EVELINA. 


for many months ; and then, with a countenance exceedingly 
lengthened, he added, that he hoped it would not be attributed 
to him as national prejudice, when he owned that he must, to 
the best of his memory, aver, that this unfortunate fall was 
owing to a sudden but violent push, which, he was shocked to 
say, some malevolent person, with a design to his injury, must 
certainly have given him ; but whether with a view to mortify 
him, by making him let the lady fall, or whether merely to spoil 
his clothes, he could not pretend to determine. 

This disputation was at last concluded by Mrs. Mirvan’s.pro- 
posing that we should all go to Cox’s museum. Nobody objected, 
and carriages were immediately ordered. 

In our way down stairs, Madame Duval, in a very passionate 
manner, said, “ Ma foi, if I wouldn’t give fifty guineas only to 
know who gave us that shove 1” 

This museum is very astonishing, and very superb ; yet it 
afiforded me but little pleasure, for it is a mere show, though a 
wonderful one. 

Sir Clement Willoughby, in our walk round the room, asked 
me what my opinion was of this brilliant spectacle ! 

“ It is very fine, and very ingenious,’’ answered I ; “ and yet, I 
don’t know how it is, but I seem to miss something^' 

“ Excellently answered !” cried he ; “ you have exactly defined 
my own feelings, though in a manner I should never have 
arrived at. But T was certain your taste was too well forfiied to 
be pleased at the expense of your understanding.” 

“ PardiJ'' cried Madame Duval, “ I hope you two is difficult 
enough ! I’m sure if you don’t like this you like nothing : for 
it’s the grandest, prettiest, finest sight that ever I see in Eng- 
land.” 

“ What !” cried the captain, with a sneer, “ I suppose this may 
be in your French taste ? it’s like enough, for it’s all kickshaw 
work. But prithee, friend,” turning to the person who explained 
the devices, “ will you tell me the use of all this? for I’m not 
enough of a conjurer to find it out.” 


F.VELTNA. 


89 


“ Use, indeed !” repeated Madame Duval, disdainfully ; “ Lord, 
if every thing’s to be useful !” 

“ Why, sir, as to that,” said our conductor, “ the ingenuity of 
the mechanism — tbe beauty of the workmanship — the — undoubt- 
edly, sir, any person of taste may easily discern the utility of 
such extraordinary performances.” 

“ Why, then, sir,” answered the captain, “ your person of taste 
must be either a coxcomb or a Frenchman, though, for the mat- 
ter of that, ’tis the same thing.” 

Just then our attention was attracted by a pineapple ; which, 
suddenly opening, discovered a nest of birds, which immediately 
began to sing. “ Well,” cried Madame Duval, “ this is prettier 
than all the rest! I declare, in all my travels, I never see 
nothing eleganter.” 

“ Dark ye, friend,” said the captain, “ hast never another pine- 
apple ?” 

“Sir?” 

“ Because, if thou hast, prithee give it us without the birds ; 
for d’ye see, I am no Frenchman, and should relish something 
more substantial.” 

This entertainment concluded with a concert of mechanical 
music : I cannot explain how it was produced, but the effect was 
pleasing. Madame Duval was in ecstacies ; and the captain 
flung himself into so many ridiculous distortions, by way of 
mimicking her, that he engaged the attention of all the com- 
pany ; and, in the midst of the performance of the coronation 
anthem, while Madame Duval was affecting to' beat time, and 
uttering many expressions of delight, he called suddenly for salts, 
which a lady, apprehending some distress, politely handed to 
him, and which instantly applying to the nostrils of poor 
Madame Duval, she involuntarily snuffed up such a quantity, 
that the pain and surprise made her scream aloifd. When she 
recovered, she reproached him with her usual vehemence; but 
he protested he had taken that measure out of pure friendship, as 
he concluded, from her raptures, that she was going into hysterics. 
This excuse by no means appeased her, and they had a violent 


90 


EVELINA. 


quarrel ; but the only effect her anger had on the captain was to 
increase his diversion. Indeed, he laughs and talks so terribly 
loud in public, that he frequently makes us ashamed of belonging 
to him. 

Madame Duval, notwithstanding her wrath, made no scruple 
of returning to dine in Queen-Anne-street. Mrs. Mirvan had 
secured places for the play at Drury-lane Theatre, and, though 
ever uneasy in her company, she very politely invited Madame 
Duval to be of our party ; however, she had' a bad cold, and chose 
to nurse it. I was sorry for her indisposition ; but I knew not 
how to be sorry she did not accompany us, for she is — I must 
not say what, but very unlike other*people. 


LETTER XX. 

Evelina in continuation. 

Our places were in the front row of a side-box. Sir Clement 
Willoughby, who knew our intention, was at the door of the 
theatre, and handed us from the carriao*e. 

We had not been seated five minutes before Lord Orville, 
whom we saw in the stage-box, came to us ; and he honoured us 
with his company all the evening. Miss Mirvan and I both 
rejoiced that Madame Duval was absent, as we hoped for the 
enjoyment of some conversation, uninterrupted by her quarrels 
with the captain : but I soon found that her presence would have 
made very little alteration ; for so far was I from daring to 
speak, that I knew not where even to look. 

The play was Love for Love ; and though it is fraught with 
wit and entertainment, I hope I shall never see it represented 
again ; for it is so extremely indelicate, to use the softest word I 
can, that Miss Mirvan and I were perpetually out of countenance, 
and could neither make any observations ourselves nor venture 
to listen to those of others. This was the more provoking, as 


EVELINA. 


91 


Lord Orville was in excellent spirits, and exceedingly enter- 
taining. 

Wlien the play was over, I flattered rriyself I should be able to 
look about me with less restraint, as we intended to stay the 
farce ; but the curtain had hardly dropped w'hen the box-door 
opened, and in came Mr. Lovel, the man by whose foppery and 
impertinence I was so much teased at the ball where I first saw 
Lord Orville. 

I turned away my head, and began talking to Miss Mirvan ; 
for .1 was desirous to avoid speaking to him — but in vain ; for, as 
soon as he had made his compliments to Lord Orville and Sir 
Clement Willoughby, who returned them very coldly, he bent 
his head forward and said to me, “ I hope, ma’am, you have 
enjoyed your health since I had the honour — I beg ten thousand 
pardons, but I protest I was was going to say the honour of 
dancing with you — however, I mean the honour of seeing you 
dance ?” 

He spoke with a self-complacency that convinced me that he 
had studied this address, by way of making reprisals for my con- 
duct at the ball ; I therefore bowed slightly but made no 
answer.” 

After a short silence he again called my attention, by saying, 
in an easy, negligent way, “ I think, ma’am, you was never in 
town before ? 

“ No, sir.” 

“ So I did presume. Doubtless, ma’am, every thing must be 
infinitely novel to you. Our customs, our manners, and les eti- 
quettes de nous autres can have very little resemblance to those 
you have been used to. I imagine, ma’am, your retirement is at 
no very small distance from the capital ?” 

I was so much disconcerted at this sneering speech that I said 
not a word ; though I ever since thought my vexation both stim- 
ulated and delighted him. 

“ The air we breathe here, however, ma’am,” continued he, 
very» conceitedly, “ though foreign to that you have been 
accustomed to, has not, I hope, been at variance with your 
health?” 


92 


EVELINA. 


“ Mr. Level,” said Lord Orville, “ could not your eye have 
spared that question ?” • 

“ 0, my lord,” answered he, “ if health were the only cause of 
a lady’s bloom, my eye, I grant, had been infallible from the first 
glance ; but ” 

“ Come, come,” cried Mrs. Mirvan, “ I must beg no insinua- 
tions of that sort. Miss Anville’s colour, as you have success- 
fully tried, may, you see, be heightened ; blit, I assure you, it 
would be past your skill to lessen it. 

“ ’Pon honour, madam,” returned he, “ you wrong me ; I 
presumed not to infer that rouge was the only succedaneum for 
health ; but really I have known so many different causes for a 
lady’s colour, such as flushing, anger, mauvaine honte^ and so 
forth, that I never dare decide to which it may be owing.” 

“ As to such causes as them there,” cried the captain, “ they 
must belong to those that they keep company with.” 

“ Very true, captain,” said Sir Clement: “the natural com- 
plexion has nothing to do with occasional sallies of the passions 
or any accidental clauses.” 

“ No, truly,” returned the captain : “ for now here’s me ; why 
I look like any other man, just now ; and yet if you were to put 
me in a, passion, ’fore George, you’d soon see me have as fine a 
high colour as any painted Jezebel in all this place, be she never 
so bedaubed.” 

“ But,” said Lord Orville, “ the difference of natural and of 
artificial colour seems to me very easily discerned ; that of nature 
is mottled, and varying ; that of art set^ and too smooth ; it 
wants that animation, that glow, that indescribable something^ 
which, even now that I see it, wholly surpasses all my powers of 
expression.” 

“Your lordship,” said Sir Clement, “is universally acknow- 
ledged to be a connoisseur in beauty.” 

“ And you. Sir Clement,” returned he, “ an enthusiast.^’’ 

“ I am proud to own it,” cried Sir Clement ; “ in such a cause, 
and before such objects, enthusiasm is simply the consequence 
of not being blind.” 


EVELINA. 


93 


“ Prithee, a truce with all this palavering,’^ cried the captain : 
“ ^.he women are vain enough all ready ; no need for to puff ’em 
up more.” 

“ We must all submit to the commanding officer,” said Sir 
Clement : “ therefore let us call another subject. Pray, ladies, 
how have you been entertained with the play ?” 

Want of entertainment,” said Mrs. Mirvan, “ is its least 
fault ; but I own there are objections to it which I should be glad 
to see removed.” 

“ I could have ventured to answer for the ladies,” said Lord 
Orville, “ since I am sure this is not a play that can-be honoured 
with their approbation.” 

“ What, I suppose it is not sentimental enough !” cried the 
captain ; “ or else it is too good for them : for I’ll maintain it’s 
one of the best comedies in our language, and has more wit in 
one scene than there is in all the new plays put together.” 

“ For my part,” said Mr. Lovel, “ I confess I seldom listen to 
the players ; one has so much to do in looking about in finding out 
one’s acquaintance, that really one has no time to mind the stage. 
Pray (most affectedly fixing his eyes upon a diamond ring on 
his little finger), pray, what was the play to-night ?” 

“ Why, what the d — 1,” cried the captain, “ do you come to 
the play without knowing what it is ?” 

“ O yes, sir, yes, very frequently.; I have no time to read play- 
bills ; one merely comes to meet one’s friends, and show that 
one’s alive.” 

“ Ha, ha, ha ! — and so,” cried the captain,* “ it costs you five 
shillings a night just to show you’re alive! Well, faith, my 
friends should all think me dead and under ground before I’d be 
at that expose for ’em. Howsomever,— this here you may take 
from me — they’ll find you out fast enough if you have any thing 
to give ’em. And so you’ve been here all this time, and don t 
know what the play was ?” 

“ W^hy, really, sir, a play requires so much attention, it i . 
scarce possible to keep awake if one listens ; — for, indeed, by the 
time it is evening, one has been so fatigued with dining, or wine. 


94 


EVELINA. 


or the House, or studying, that it is — it is perfectly an impossi- 
bility. But, now I think of it, I believe I have a bill in my 
pocket ; 0, ay, here it is. Love for Love, ay, — true, ha, ha ! — 
how could I be so stupid !” 

“ 0, easily enough, as to that, I warrant you,” said the captain ; 
“but, by my .soul, this is one of the best jokes I ever heard ! 
Come to a play, and not know what it is. Why, I suppose you 
wouldn’t have found it out, if they had fohh'd you oft’ with a 
scraping of fiddlers, or an opera ?— Ha, ha, ha !— Why now, I 
should have thought you might have taken some notice of one 
Mr. Tattle that is in this play ?” 

The sarcasm, which caused a general smile, made him colour : 
but turning to the captain with a look of conceit, which implied 
that he had a retort ready, he said, “ Pray, sir, give me leave to 
ask. What do you think of one Mr. Ben^ who is also in this 
play r 

The captain, regarding him with the utmost contempt, answered 
in a loud voice, “ Think of him ! — why, I think he is a man 
And then, staring full in his face, he struck his cane on the ground 
Avith a violence that made him start. He did not, however, 
choose to take any notice of this ; but, having bit his nails some 
time in manifest confusion, he turned very quick to me, and in a 
sneering tone of voice said, “ For my part, I was most struck with 
the country young lady. Miss Prue. Pray what do you think of 
her, ma’am ?” 

“ Indeed, sir,” cried I, very much provoked, “ I think — that 
is, I do not think any thing about her.” • 

“ Well, really ma’am, you prodigiously surprise me ! maw, 
airparemment ce n'est qu’une fagon de parler ? though I should 
beg your pardon, for probably you do not understand French ?” 

I made no answer, for I thought his rudeness intolerable ; but 
bir Clement, with great warmth, said, “ I am surprised that you 
can suppose such an object as Miss Prue would engage the atten- 
tion of Miss Anville even for a moment.” 

“ 0, sir,” returned this fop, “ ’tis the first character in the piece ! 
— so well drawn ! — so much the thing ! — such true country 


EVELINA. 


95 


breeding — such rural ignorance I ha, ha, ha! — ’tis most admir- 
ably hit off, ’pon honour.” 

I could almost have cried, that such impertinence, should be 
levelled at me ; and yet, chagrined as I was, 1 could never behold 
Lord Orville and this man at the’ same time, and feel any regret 
for the cause I had given of displeasure. 

“The only female in the play,” said Lord Orville, “worthy of 
being mentioned to these ladies is Angelica. 

“ Angelica,” cried Sir Clement, “is a noble girl ; she tries her 
lover severely, but she rewards him generously.” 

“ Yet, in a trial so long,” said Mrs. Mirvan, “ there seems 
rather too much consciousness of her power.” 

“Since my opinion has the sanction of Mrs. Mirvan’s,” added 
Lord Orville, “ I will venture so say that Angelica bestows her 
hand rather with the air of a benefactress than with the ten- 
derness of a mistress. Generosity without delicacy, like wit 
without judgment, generally gives as much pain as pleasure. 
The uncertainty in which she keeps Valentine, and her manner 
of trifling with his temper, gives no very favourable idea of her 
own.” 

“Well, my lord,” said Mr. Lovel, “it must, however, be 
owned, that uncertainty is not the ton among our ladies at pres- 
ent ; nay, indeed, I think they say, — though, faith (taking a 
pinch of snuflf), I hope it is not true, but they say that we now 
are most shy and backward.” 

The curtain then drew up, and our conversation ceased. Mr. 
Lovel, finding we chose to attend to the players, left the box. 
How strange it is, sir, that this man, not contented with the large 
share of foppery and nonsense which he has from nature, should 
think proper to affect yet more 1 for what he said of Tattle and 
of Miss Prue convinced me that he really had listened- to the 
play, though he was so ridiculous and foolish as to pretend igno- 
rance. 

But how malicious and impertinent is this creature to talk to 
-me in such a manner ! I am sure I hope I shall never see him 
again. I should have despised him heartily as a fop, had he 


96 


EVELINA. 


never spoken to me at all ; but now, that he thinks proper to 
resent his supposed ill-usage, I am really quite afraid of him. 

The entertainment was. The Deuse is in him ; which Lord 
Orville observed to be the most finished and elegant jpetite piece 
that was ever written in English. 

In our way home Mrs. Mirvan put me into some consternation 
by saying, it wa§ evident, from the resentment which this Mr. 
Lovel harbours of my conduct, that he would think it a provoca- 
tion sufficiently important for a duel, if his courage equalled his 
wrath. 

I am terrified at the very idea. Good heaven ! that a man so 
weak and frivolous should be so revengeful ! However, if bravery 
would have excited him to aflfront Lord Orville, how much 
reason have I to rejoice that cowardice makes him contented 
with venting his spleen upon me ! But we shall leave town 
soon, and, I hope, see him no more. 

It was some consolation to mo to hear from Miss Mirvan, that, 
while he was speaking to me so cavalierly. Lord Orville regarded 
him with great indignation. 

But, really, I think there ought to be a book of the laws and 
customs a-la-mode^ presented to all young people upon their first 
introduction into public company. 

To-night we go to jthe opera, where I expect very great plea- 
ure. We shall have the same party as at the play ; for Lord 
Orville said he should be there, and would look for us. 


LETTER XXL 
Evelina in continuation. 

I HAVE a volume to write of the adventures of yesterday. 

In the afternoon, — at Berry Hill I should have said the even- 
ing^ for it was almost six o’clock, — while Miss Mirvan and I were 
dressing for the opera, and in high spirits from the expectation 
of great entertainment and pleasure, we heard a carriage stop at 


EVELINA. 


9T 


the door, and concluded that Sir Clement Willoughby, with his 
usual assiduity, was come to attend us to the Uaymarket ; but, 
in a few moments, what was our surprise to see, our chamber 
door flung open, and the two Misses Branghton enter the room ! 
They advanced to me with great familiarity, saying, “ How do 
you do, cousin ? — so we’ve caught you at the glass ! — well, I’m 
determined I’ll tell my brother of that !” 

Miss Mirvan, who had never before seen them, and could not 
at first imagine who they were, looked so much astonished, that 
I was ready to laugh myself, till the eldest said, “ We’ve come 
to take you to the Opera, miss ; papa, and my brother are below, 
and we are to call for your grandmamma as we go along.” 

“ I am very sorry,” answered I, “ that you should have taken 
so much trouble, as I am engaged already.” 

“ Engaged Miss ! Lord, miss, never mind that,” cried the 
youngest : “ this young lady will make your excuses, I dare say ; 
it’s only doing as one would be done by, you know.” 

‘‘Indeed, ma’am,” said Miss Mirvan, “I shall myself be very 
sorry to be deprived of Miss Anville’s company this evening.” 

Well, miss, that is not so very good-natured in you,” said 
Miss Branghton, “ considering we only come to give our cousin 
pleasure ; it’s no good to us ; it’s all upon her account ; for we 
came I don’t know how much round about to take her up.” 

“ I am extremely obliged to you,” said I, “ and very sorry you 
have lost so much time : but I cannot possibly help it, for I 
engaged myself without knowing you would call.” 

“ Lord, what signifies that ?” said Miss Polly : “ you’re no old 
maid, and so you needn’t be so very formal : besides, I dare say 
those you are engaged to ain’t half so near related to you as we 
are.” 

“ I must beg you not to press me any further, for I assure you 
it is not in my power to attend you.” 

“ Why, we came all out of the city on purpose : besides, your 
grandmamma expects you ; and pray what are we to say to her?” 
• “ Tell her, if you please, that I am much concerned, but that 
I am pre-engaged.” 


6 


98 


EVELINA. 


“ And who to demanded the abrupt Miss Branghton. 

“ To Mrs, Mirvan, and a large party.” 

“ And, pray, what are you all going to do, that it would be 
such a mighty matter for you to come along with us ?” 

“We are all going to — to the Opera.” 

“0 dear, if that be all, why can’t we go all together?” 

I was extremely disconcerted at this forward and ignorant 
behaviour, and yet their rudeness very much lessened my con- 
cern at refusing them. Indeed, their dress was such as would 
have rendered their scheme of accompanying our party imprac- 
ticable, even if I bad desired it ; and this, as they did not 
themselves find out, I was obliged, in terms the least mortifying 
I could think of, to tell them. 

They were very much chagrined, and asked where I should 
sit. 

“ In the pit,” answered I. 

“ In the pit !” repeated Miss Branghton ; “ well, really, I must 
own, I should never have supposed that my gown was not good 
enough for the pit : but come, Polly, let’s go ; if miss does not 
think us fine enough for her, why to be sure she may choose.” 

Surprised at this ignorance, I would have explained to them 
that the pit at the Opera required the same dress as the boxes ; 
but they were so much affronted they would not hear me ; and, 
in great displeasure, left the room, saying, they would not have 
troubled me, only they thought I should not be so proud with 
my own relations, and that they had at least as good a right 
to my company as strangers. 

I endeavoured to apologize, and would have sent a long mes- 
sage to Madame Duval ; but they hastened away without listen- 
ing to me ; and I could not follow them down stairs, because I 
was not dressed. The last words I heard them say were, “ Well^ 
her graiidmamma will be in a fine passion, that’s one good 
thing.” 

Though I was extremely mad at this visit, yet I so heartily 
rejoiced at their going that I would not suffer myself to think 
gravely about it. 


EVELINA. 


ro 

Soon after Sir Clement actually came, and we all went down 
stairs. Mrs. Mirvan ordered tea : and we were engaged in a 
very lively conversation, when the servant announced Madame 
Duval, w'ho instantly followed him into the room. 

Her face was the colour of scarlet, and her eyes sparkled with 
fury. She came up to me with a hasty step, saying, “ So, miss, 
you refuses to come to me, do you ? And pray who are you, to 
dare to disobey me ?” 

I was quite frightened; — I made no answer; — I even attempted 
to rise, and could not, but sat still, mute and motionless. 

Everybody but Miss Mirvan seemed in the utmost astonish- 
ment ; and the captain rising and approaching Madame Duval, 
with a voice of authority, said, “ Why, how now, Mrs. Turkey- 
cock, what’s put you into this fluster ?” 

It’s nothing to you,” answered she, “ so you may as well hold 
your tongue ; for I shan’t be called to no account by you I assure 
you.” 

“ There you’re out, Madame Fury,” returned he ; “ for you 
must know, T never suffer anybody to be in a passion in my house 
but myself” 

“ But you shall^’’ cried she in a great rage ; “ for I’ll be in as 
great a passion as ever I please, without asking your leave : so 
don’t give yourself no more airs about it. And as for you, miss 
(again advancing to me), I order you to follow me this moment, 
or else I’ll make you repent it all your life.” And, with these 
words, she flung out of the room. 

I was in such extreme terror, at being addressed and threat- 
ened in a manner to which I am so wholly unused, that I 
almost thought I should have fainted. 

“ Don’t be alarmed, my love,” cried Mrs. Mirvan, “ but stay 
where you are, and I will follow Madame Duval, and try to bring 
her to reason.” 

Miss Mirvan took my hand, and most kindly endeavoured to 
raise my spirits. Sir Clement, too, approached me, with an air 
so interested in my distress that I could not but feel myself 
obliged to him ; and, taking my other hand, said, “ For heaven’s 


100 


EVELINA. 


sake, my dear madam, compose yourself : surely the violence of 
such a wretch ought merely to move your contempt ; she can 
have no right, J imagine, to lay her commands upon you, and I 
only wish that you would allow me to speak to her.” 

“ O no ! not for the world ? — indeed, I believe, — I am afraid, 
— I had better follow her.” 

“ Follow her ! Good God, my dear Miss Anville, would you 
trust yourself with a mad woman ? for what else can you call 
a creature whose passions are so insolent? No, no : send her 
word at once to leave the house, and tell her you desire that she 
will never see you again.” 

“ 0 sirl you don’t know who you talk of! — it would ill be- 
come me to send Madame Duval such a message.” 

“But why''' cried he (looking very inquisitive), “ why should 
you scruple to treat her as she deserves ?” 

I then found that his aim was to discover the nature of her 
connexion with me; but I felt so m'uch ashamed of my near 
relationship to her that I could not persuade myself to answer 
him, and only entreated that he would leave her to Mrs. Mirvan, 
who just then entered the room. 

Before she could speak to me, the captain called out, “ Well 
Goody, what have you done with Madame French ? is she cooled 
a little? cause if she ben’t. I’ve just thought of a most excellent 
device to bring her to.” 

“ My dear Evelina,” said Mrs. Mirvan, “ I have been vainly 
endeavouring to appease her ; I pleaded your engagement, and 
promised your future attendance ; but I am sorry to say, my love, 
that I fear her rage will end in a total breach (which I think you 
had better avoid) if she is any further opposed. 

“ Then I will go to her, madam,” cried I ; “ and, indeed, it is 
now no matter, for I should not be able to recover my spirits 
sufficiently to enjoy much pleasure any where this evening.” 

Sir Clement began a very warm expostulation and entreaty 
that I would not go ; but I begged him to desist, and told him, 
very honestly, that, if my compliance were not indispensably 
necessary, I should require no persuasion to stay. He then took 


EVELINA. 


101 


my hand, to lead me down stairs ; but the captain desired him 
to be quiet, saying he would squire me himselt, “ because,” he 
added (exultingly rubbing his hands), “ I have a wipe ready for 
the old lady, which may serve her to chew as she goes along.” 

We found her in the parlour, “ 0, you’re come at last, miss, 
are you ? — fine airs you give yourself, indeed ! — ma foi^ if you 
hadn’t come, you might have staid, I assure you, and have been 
a beggar for your pains.” 

“ Heyday, madam,” cried the captain (prancing forward, with 
a look of great glee), “ what, ain’t you got out of that there pas- 
sion yet ? why then. I’ll tell you what to do to cool yourself, — 
call upon your old friend. Monseer Slippery, who was with you 
at Ranelagh, and give my service to him, and tell him, if he sets 
any store by your health, that 1 desire he’ll give you such another 
souse as he did before : he’ll know what I mean, and I’ll warrant 
you he’ll do’t for my sake.” 

“ Let him, if dares !” cried Madame Duval ; “but I sha’n’tstay 
to answer you no more ; you are a vulgar fellow ; — and so child, 
let us leave him to himself.” 

“Hark ye, madam,” cried the captain, “you’d best not call 
names ; because d’ye see, if you do, I shall make bold to show 
you the door.” 

■ She changed colour, and saying, “ Pardi^ I can show it my- 
self,” hurried out of the room ; and I followed her into a hack- 
ney-coach. But before we drove off, the captain, looking out of 
the parlour window, called out, “ D’ye hear madam, don’t for- 
get my message to monseer r 

You will believe our ride was not the most agreeable in the 
world ; indeed, it would be dificult to say which was least pleased, 
Madame Duval, or I, though the reasons of our discontent 
were so different : however, Madame Duval soon got the start of 
me ; for we had hardly turned out of Queen-Anne-street, when a 
man running full speed stopped the coach. He came up to the 
window, and I saw he was the captain’s servant. He had a 
broad grin on his face, and panted for breath, Madame Duval 
demanded his business : “ Madam,” answered he, “ my master 


102 


EVELINA. 


desires his compliments to you, and — and — and he says he wishes 
it well over with you. He, he, he!” 

Madame Duval instantly darted forward, and gave him a vio- 
lent blow on the face. “ Take that back for your answer, sirrah,” 
cried she, “ and learn to grin at your betters another time. 
Coachman drive on 1” 

The servant was in a violent passion, and swore terribly ; but 
we were soon out of hearing. 

The rage of Madame Duval was greater than ever ; and she 
inveighed against the captain with such fury, that I was even 
apprehensive that she would have returned to his house, pur- 
posely to reproach him, which she repeatedly threatened to do ; 
nor would she, I believe, have hesitated a moment, but that, 
notwithstanding her violence, he has really made her afraid of 
him. 

When we came to her lodgings we found all the Branghtons 
in the passage, impatiently waiting for us, with the door open. 

“ Only see, here’s miss?” cried the brother. 

“ Well, I declare, I thought as much 1” said the younger sis- 
ter. 

“ Why, miss,” said Mr. Branghton, “ I think you miglit as 
well have come with your cousins at once ; it’s throwing money 
in the dirt to pay two coaches for one fare.” • 

“ Lord, father,” cried the son, “ make no words about that ; 
for I’ll pay for the coach that miss had.” 

“ 0, I know very well,” answered Mr. Branghton, “ that you’re 
always more ready to spend than to earn.” 

I then interfered, and begged that I might myself be allowed 
to pay the fare, as the expense was incurred upon my account : 
they all said no, and proposed that the same coach should carry 
us to the Opera. 

While this passed the Misses Branghton were examining m}’- 
dress, which, indeed, was very improper for my company ; and 
as I was extremely unwilling to be so conspicuous among them, I 
requested Madame Duval to borrow a hat or bonnet for me of 
the people of the house. But she never wears either herself, and 


EVELINA. 


103 


thinks them very English and barbarous ; therefore she insisted 
that I should go full dressed, as I had prepared myself for the 
pit, though I made many objections. 

We were then all crowded into the same carriage; but when 
we arrived at the opera-house I contrived to pay the coachman. 
They made a great many speeches ; but Mr. Branghton’s reflec- 
tion had determined me not to be indebted to him. 

If I had not been too much chagrined to laugh, I should have 
been extremely diverted at their ignorance of whatever belongs 
to an opera. In the first place, they could not tell at what door 
we ought to enter, and we wandered about for some time with- 
out knowing which way to turn : they did not choose to apply 
to me, though I was the only person of the party who had ever 
before been at an opera ; because they were unwilling to sup- 
pose that their country cousin^ as they were pleased to call me, 
should be better acquainted with any London public place than 
themselves. I was very indifferent and careless upon the subject ; 
but not a little uneasy at finding that my dress, so different 
from that of the company to which I belonged, attracted general 
notice and observation.. 

In a short time, however, we arrived at one of the door-keep- 
ers’ bars. Mr. Branghton demanded for what part of the house 
they took money ? They answered, the pit ; and regarded us 
all with great earnestness. The son then advancing, said, “ Sir, 
if you please, I beg that I may treat miss.” 

“ We’ll settle that another time,” answered Mr. Branghton, 
and put down a guinea. 

Two tickets of admission were given to him. 

Mr. Branghton, in his turn, now stared at the door-keeper, 
and demanded what he meant by giving him only two tickets for 
a guinea. 

“ Only two, sir !” said the man, “ why, don’t you know that 
the tickets are half-a-guinea each ?” 

“ Half-a-guinea each !” repeated Mr. Branghton, “ why I never 
heard of such a thing in my life ! And pray, sir, how many will 
they admit ?” 


104: EVELINA. 

“ Just as usual, sir, one person each,” 

“ But one person for half-a-guinea ! — why, I only want to sit 
in the pit, friend.” 

“ Had not the ladies better sit in the gallery, sir ; for they’ll 
hardly choose to go into the pit with their hats on ?” 

“ 0, as to that,” cried Miss Branghton, “ if our hats are too 
high, we’ll take them off when we get in, I shan’t mind it, for 1 
did iny hair on purpose.” 

Another party then approaching, the door-keeper could no 
longer attend to Mr. Branghton ; who, taking up the guinea, 
told him it would be long enough before he’d see it again, and 
walked away. 

The young ladies, in some confusion, expressed their surprise 
that their papa should not know the opera prices, which, for their 
parts, they had read in the papers a thousand times. 

“ The price of stocks,” said he, “ is enough for me to see after ; 
and I took it for granted it was the same thing here as at the 
playhouse.” 

“ I knew well enough what the price was,” said the son ; “ but 
I would not speak, because I thought perhaps they’d take less, as 
we’re such a large party.” 

The sisters both laughed very contemptuously at this idea, and 
asked him if he ever heard oi people's abating any thing at a pub- 
lic place ? 

“ I don’t know whether I have or no,” answered he ; “ but I 
am sure if they would you’d like it so much the worse.” 

“Very true, Tom,” cried Mr. Branghton : “ Tell a woman any- 
thing that is reasonable, and she’ll be sure to hate it.” 

“ Well,” said Miss Polly, “ I hope that aunt and miss will be ot 
our side, for papa always takes part with Tom.” 

“ Come,- come,” cried Madame Duval, “ if you stand talking 
here, w'e shan’t get no place at all.” 

Mr. Branghton then inquired the way to the gallery ; and 
when we came to the door-keeper demanded what was to 

pay. 

“ The usual price sir.” said the man. 


EVELINA. 


105 


“ Then give me change,” cried Mr. Branghton, again putting 
down his guinea. 

“ For how many, sir ?” 

“ Why — let’s see — for six.” 

“ For six, sir ! why you’ve given me but a guinea.” 

“ But a guinea ! why, how much would you have ? I suppose 
it isn’t half-a-guinea apiece here too ?” 

“No, sir, only five shillings.” 

Mr. Branghton again took up his unfortunate guinea, and pro- 
tested he would submit to no such imposition. I then proposed 
that we should return home, but Madame Duval would not con- 
sent ; and we were conducted, by a woman who sells books of 
the opera, to another gallery door, where after some disputing 
Mr. Branghton at last paid, and we all went up stairs, 

Madame Duval complained very much of the trouble of going 
so high ; but Mr. Branghton desired her not to hold the place too 
cheap ; “ for whatever you think,” cried he, “ I assure you I paid 
pit price ; so don’t suppose I come here to save my money.” 

“ Well, to be sure,” said Miss Branghton, “ there’s no judging 
of a place by the outside, else I must needs say, there’s nothing- 
very extraordinary in the staircase.” 

But when we entered the gallery, their amazement and disap. 
pointment became general. For a few instants they looked at 
one another without speaking, and then they all broke silence at 
once. 

“ Lord, papa,” exclaimed Miss Polly ; “ why, you have brought 
us to the one-shilling gallery !” 

“ I’ll be glad to give you two shillings though,” answered 
he, “ to pay. I was never so fooled out of my money before, 
since the hour of my birth. Either the door-keeper’s a knave, 
or this is the greatest imposition that ever was put upon the pub- 
lic.” 

“ i/a/oe,” cried Madame Duval, “ I never sat in such a mean 
place in all my life ; — Why, it’s as high — we sha’n’t see noth- 
ing.” 

“ I thought at the time,” said Mr. Branghton, “ that three shil- 


4 

106 EVELINA. 

lings was an exorbitant price for a place in the gallery ; but as 
we’d been asked so much at the other doors, why I paid it with- 
out many words ; but then, to be sure thinks I, it can never be 
like any other gallery ; we shall see some crincum cranJcum or 
other for our money ; but I find it’s as arrant a take-in as ever I 
met with.” 

“ Why it’s as like the twelve-penny gallery at Drury lane,” 
cried the son, “ as two peas are to one another. I never knew 
father so bit before.” 

“ Lord,” said Miss Branghton, “ I thought it would have been 
quite a fine place — all over I don’t know what, — and done quite 
in taste.” 

In this manner they continued to express their dissatisfaction 
till the curtain drew up ; after which their observations were 
very curious. They made no allowance for the customs, or even 
for the language of another country ; but formed all their remarks 
upon comparisons with the English Theatre. 

Notwithstanding my vexation at having been forced into a 
party so very disagreeable, and that too from one so much, so very 
much the contrary — yet would they have suffered me to listen 
I should have forgotten every thing unpleasant, and felt nothing 
but delight in hearing the sweet voice of Signor Millico, the first 
singer ; but they tormented me with continual talking. 

“ What a jabbering they make !” cried Mr. Branghton ; “ there’s 
no knowing a word they say. Pray, what’s the reason they can’t 
as well sing in English ? — but I suppose the fine folks would not 
like it if they could understand it.” 

“ How unnatural their action is !” said the son. “ Why, now, 
who ever saw an Englishman put himself in such out-of-the-way 
postures ?” 

“ For my part,” said Miss Polly, “I think it’s very pretty, only 
I don’t know what it means.” 

“ Lord, what does that signify ?” cried her sister. “ Mayn’t one 
like a thing without her being so very particular % You may see 
that miss likes it, and I don’t suppose she knows more of the 
matter than we do.” 


EVELINA. 


107 


A gentleman soon after was so obliging as to make room in 
the front row for Miss Branghton and me. We had no sooner 
seated ourselves than Miss Branghton exclaimed, “ Good gracious! 
only see I — why, Polly, all the people in the pit are without hats 
dressed like anything !” 

“ Lord, so they are 1” cried Miss Polly ; “ well I never saw the 
like 1 — it’s worth coming to the opera if one saw nothing 
else.” 

I was then able to distinguish the happy party I had left ; and 
I saw that Lord Orville had seated himself next to Mrs. Mirvan. 
Sir Clement had his eyes perpetually cast towards the five-shil- 
ling gallery, where I suppose he concluded that we were seated. 
How'ever, before the opera was over, I have reason to believe that 
he had discovered me, high and distant as I was from him. 
Probably he distinguished me by my head-dress. 

At the end of the first act, as the green curtain dropped to pre- 
pare for the dance, they imagined that the opera was done ; and 
Mr. Branghton expressed great indignation that he had been 
tricked out of his money with so little trouble. “ Now, if any 
Englishman was to do such an impudent thing as this,” said he, 
“ why he’d be pelted ; but here one of these outlandish gentry 
may do just what he pleases, and come on, and squeak out a song 
or two, and then pocket your money without further ceremony.” 

However, so determined he was to be dissatisfied, that before 
the conclusion of the third act he found still more fault with the 
opera for being too long, and wondered whether they thought 
their singing good enough to serve us for supper. 

During the symphony of a song of Signor Millico’s in the sec- 
ond act, young Mr. Branghton said, “ Pts my belief that that fel- 
low’s going to sing another song !— why there’s nothing but sing- 
ing 1 I wonder when they’ll speak.” 

This song, which was slow and pathetic, caught all my atten- 
tion, and Heaned my head forward to avoid hearing their obser- 
vations, that I might listen without interruption : but upon turn- 
ing round when the song was over, I found that I was the object 
of general diversion to the whole party : for the Misses Branghton 


108 


EVELINA. 


were tittering, and the two gentlemen making signs and faces at 
me, implying their contempt of my affectation. 

This discovery determined me to appear as inattentive as 
themselves ; but I was very mu(;h provoked at being thus j)re- 
vented enjoying the only pleasure which, in such a party, was 
within my power. 

“ So miss,” said Mr. Branghton, “ you’re quite in the fashion, I 
see ; so you like operas ? — well. I’m not so polite ; I can’t like 
nonsense, let it be never so much the taste.” 

“ But pray, miss,” said the son, “ what makes that fellow look 
so doleful while he is singing ?” 

“ Probably because the character he performs is in dis- 
tress.” 

“ Why then, I think he might as well let alone singing till he’s 
in better cue : it’s out of all nature for a man to be piping when 
he’s in distress. For my part I never sing but w^hen I’m merry, 
and yet I love a song as well as most people.” 

W’^hen the curtain dropped they all rejoiced. 

“ How do you like it ? — and how do you like it ?” passed from 
one to another with looks of the utmost contempt. ‘‘ As for me,” 
said Mr. Branghton, “ they’ve caught me once ; but if ever they 
do again, I’ll give ’em leave to sing me to Bedlam for my pains ; 
for such a heap of stuff never did I hear : there isn’t one ounce 
of sense in the whole opera, nothing but one continual squeaking 
and squalling from beginning to end.” 

“ If I had been in the pit,” said Madame Duval, “ I should 
have liked it vastly, for music is my passion ; but sittting in such 
a place as this is quite unbearable.” 

Miss Branghton, looking at me, declared that she was not gen- 
teel enough to admire it. 

Miss Polly confessed, that if they would but sing English^ she 
would like it very well. 

The brother wished he could raise a riot in the house, because 
then he might get his money again. 

And finally they all agreed that it was monstrous dear. 

During the last dance, I perceived standing near the gallery- 


EVELINA. 


109 


door Sir Clement Willoughby. I was extremely vexed, aud 
would have given the world to have avoided being seen by him. 
iny chief objection was, from the apprehension that he would 
hear Miss Branghton call me cousin. I fear you will think this 
London journey has made me grow very proud ; but indeed this 
family is so low bred and vulgar, that I should be equally 
ashamed of such a connexion in the country or any where. And 
really I had already been so much chagrined that Sir Clement 
had been a witness of Madame Duval’s power over me, that I 
could not bear to be exposed to any further mortification. 

As the seats cleared, by parties going away. Sir Clement 
approached nearer to us. The Misses Branghton observed, with 
surprise, what a fine gentleman was come into the gallery, 
and they gave me great reason to expect that they would endea- 
vour to attract his noiice, by familiarity with me, whenever he 
should join us ; and so I formed a sort of plan to prevent any 
conversation. Fm afraid you wdll think it wrong ; and so I do 
myself now ; but at the time I only considered how I might avoid 
immediate humiliation. 

As soon as he was within two seats of us he spoke to me. “ I 
am very happy, Miss Anville, to have found you, for the ladies 
below have each an humble attendant, and therefore I am come 
to ofi’er my services here.” '. 

“ Why then,” cried I (not without hesitating), “ if you please, 
I will join them.” 

“ Will you allow me the honour of conducting you ?” cried he, 
eagerly ; and instantly taking my hand, he would have marched 
away with me ; but I turned to Madame Duval, and said, “ As 
our party is so large, madam, if you will give me leave, I will go 
down to Mrs. Mirvan that I may not crowd you in the coach.” 

And then, without waiting for an answer, I sufiered Sir Cle- 
ment to hand me out of the gallery. 

Madame Duval, I doubt not, will be very angry ; and so I am 
with myself now, and therefore I cannot be surprised : but Mr. 
Branghton, I am sure, will easily comfort himself, in having 
escaped the additional coach-expense of carrying me to Queen- 


110 


EVELINA. 


Anne-street : as to his daughters, they had no time to speak ; but 
I saw they were in utter amazement. 

My intention was to j(Un Mrs. Mirvan and accompany her home. 
Sir Clement was in high spirits and good-humour ; and all the 
way we went, I was a fool enough to rejoice in secret at the suc- 
cess of my plan ; nor was it till I got down stairs, and amid the 
servants, that any diflSculty occurred to me of meeting with my 
friends. 

I then asked Sir Clement how I should contrive to acquaint 
Mrs. Mirvan that I had left Madame Duval ? 

“ I fear it will be almost impossible to find her,” answered he ; 
“ but you have no objection to permitting me to see you safe 
home.” 

He then desired his servant, who was waiting, to order his 
chariot to draw up. 

This quite startled me : I turned to him hastily, and said that 
I could not think of going away without Mrs. Mirvan. 

“ But how can we meet with her ?” cried he ; “ you will not 
choose to into the pit yourself: I cannot send a servant there; 
and it is impossible for me to go and leave you alone.” 

The truth of this was indisputable, and totally silenced me. 
Yet, as soon as I could recollect myself, I determined not to go 
into his chariot, and told him I believed I had best return to my 
party up-stairs. 

He would not hear of this ; and earnestly entreated me not to 
withdraw the trust I had reposed in him. 

While he was speaking, T saw Lord Orville, with several ladies 
and gentlemen, coming from the pit passage : unfortunately he 
saw me too, and leaving his company, advanced instantly towards 
me, and with an air and voice of surprise said, “ Good God, do 
I see Miss Anville ?” 

I now most severely felt the folly of my plan, and the awk- 
wardness of my situation ; however I hastened to tell him, 
though in a hesitating manner, that I was waiting for Mrs. Mir- 
van : but what was my disappointment, when he acquainted me 
that she was already gone home. 


EVKLINA. 


Ill 


I was inexpressibly distressed : to suffer Lord Orville to think 
me satisfied with the single protection of Sir Clement Willoughby, 
I could not bear; yet I was more than ever averse to returning 
to a party which I dreaded his seeing. I stood some moments in 
suspense, and could not help exclaiming, “ Good Heaven ! what 
can I do ?” 

“Why, my dear madam,” cried Sir Clement, “should you be 
thus uneasy ? — you will reach Queen-Anne-street almost as soon 
as Mrs. Mirvan, and I am sure you cannot doubt being as 
safe.” 

I made no answer, and Lord Orville then said, “ My coach is 
here ; and my servants are ready to take any commands Miss 
Anville will honour me with for them. I shall myself go home 
in a chair, and therefore ” 

How grateful did I feel for a proposal so considerate, and made 
with so much delicacy ! I should gladly have accepted it had I 
been permitted, but Sir Clement would not let him even finish 
his speech ; he interrupted him with evident displeasure, and 
said, “ My lord, my own chariot is now at the door.” 

And just then the servant came and told him the carriage was 
ready. He begged to have the honour of conducting me to it, 
and would have taken my hand ; but I drew it back, saying, 
“ I can’t — I can’t indeed ! Pray, go by yourself— and as to 
me, let me have a chair.” 

“ Impossible !” cried he with vehemence ; “ I cannot think of 
trusting you with strange chairmen — I cannot answer it to Mrs. 
Mirvan : — come, dear madam, we shall be home in five minutes. 

Again I stood suspended. With what joy would I then have 
compromised with my pride, to have been once more with 
Madame Duval and the Branghtons, provided I had not met 
with Lord Orville ? However, I flatter myself that he not only 
saw but pitied my embarrassment ; for he said in a tone of voice, 
unusually softened, “ To offer my services in presence of Sir Cle- 
ment Willoughby would be superfluous ; but I hope I need not 
assure Miss Anville how happy it would make me to be of the 
least use to her.” 


112 


E 7ELINA. 


I courtesiea my thanks. Sir Clement, with great earnestness, 
pressed me to go ; and while I was thus uneasily deliberating 
what to do, the dance, I suppose, finished, for the people crowded 
down stairs. Had Lord Orville then repeated his offer I would 
have accepted it, notwithstanding Sir Clement’s repugnance ; but 
I fancy he thought it would be impertinent. In a very few min- 
utes I heard Madame Duval’s voice, as she descended from the 

gallery. “ Well,” cried I, hastily, “ if I must go ” I stopped, 

but Sir Clement immediately handed me into his chariot, called 
out Queen-Anne-street, and then jumped in himself. Lord 
Orville, with a bow and a half-smile, wished me good night. 

My concern was so great at being seen and left by Lord Orville, 
in so strange a situation, that I should have been best pleased to 
have remained wholly silent during our ride home ; but Sir Cle- 
ment took care to prevent that. 

He began by making many complaints of my unwillingness to 
trust myself with him, and begged to know what could be the 
reason. This question so much embarrassed me, that I could 
not tell what to answer ; but only said, that I was sorry to have 
taken up so much of his time. 

‘‘ 0, Miss Anville,” cried he, taking my hand, “ if you knew 
with what transport I would dedicate to you, not only the pre- 
sent, but all the future time allotted to me, you would not injure 
me by making such an apology.” 

I could not think of a word to say to this; nor to a great many 
other equally fine speeches with which he ran on; though I 
would fain have withdrawn my hand, and made almost continual 
attempts ; but in vain, for he actually grasped it between both 
his, without any regard to my resistance. 

Soon af:ei', he said that he believed the coachman w'as going 
the wrong way ; and he called to his servant, and gave him direc- 
tions. Then again addressing himself to me, “ How often, how 
assiduously have I sought an opportunity of speaking to you 
without the presence of that brute Captain Mirvan 1 Fortune has 
now kindly favoured me with one; and permit me,” again seizing 
my hand, “ permit me to use it in telling you that I adore you.” 


KYKLTNA. 


113 


I was quite thunderstruck at this abrupt and unexpected 
declaration. For some moments I was silent ; but when [ reco- 
vered from my surprise I said, “Indeed, sir, if you were deter- 
mined to make me repent leaving my own party so foolishly, you 
have very well succeeded.” 

“My, dearest Hfe,” cried he, “ is it possible you can be so cruel ? 
Can your nature and your countenance be so totally opposite ? 
Can the sweet bloom upon those charming cheeks, which appears 
as much the result of good-humour as of beauty ” 

“ O, sir,” cried I, interrupting him, “ this is very fine ; but I had 
hoped we had enough of this sort of conversation at the ridotto, 
and I did not expect you would so soon resume it.” 

“ What I then said, my sweet reproacher, was the effect of a 
mistaken, a profane idea, that your understanding held no com- 
petition with your beauty ; but now, now that I find you equally 
incomparable in both, all words, all powers of speech, are too 
feeble to express the admiration I feel of your excellences.” 

“ Indeed,” cried I, “ if your thoughts had any connexion with 
your language, you would never suppose that I could give credit 
to praise so very much above my desert.” 

This speech, which I made very gravely, occasioned still 
stronsfer protestations ; which he continued to pour forth, and I 
continued to disclaim till I began to wonder that we were not in 
Queen- Ann e-street, and begged he would desire the coachman 
to drive faster. 

“ And does this little moment,” cried he, “ which is the first 
of happiness I have ever known, does it already appear so very 
long to you ?” 

“ I am afraid the man has mistaken the way,” answered I, “ or 
else we should ere now have been at our journey’s end. I must 
beg vou will speak to him.” 

“ And can you think me so much my own enemy ! — if my 
good genius has inspired the inan with a desire of prolonging 
mv happiness, can you expect that I should counteract its indul- 
gence ?” 

I now began to apprehend that he had himself ordered the 


114 


EVELINA. 


man to go a wrong way ; and I was so much alarmed at the 
idea, that, the very instant it occurred to me, I let down the 
glass, and made a sudden effort to open the chariot-door myself, 
with a view of jumping into the street ; but he caught hold of 
me, exclaiming, “ For Heaven’s sake, what is the matter ?” 

“ I — I don’t know,” cried I (quite out of breath), “ but I am 
sure the man goes wrong ; and if you will not speak to him, I 
am determined I will get out myself.” 

“You amaze me,” answered he (still holding me) : “ I cannot 
imagine what you apprehend. Surely you can have no doubts 
of my honour ?” 

He drew me towards him as he spoke. I was frightened 
dreadfully, and could hardly say, “No, sir, no, — none at all* 
only Mrs. Mirvan, — I think she will be uneasy.” 

“ Whence this alarm, my dearest angel ? what can you fear ? 
My life is at your devotion, and can you, then, doubt my pro- 
tection ?” 

And so saying, he passionately kissed my hand. 

Never in my whole life have I been so terrified. I broke for- 
cibly from him, and putting my head out of the window, called 
aloud to the man to stop. Where we then were I know not ; 
but I saw not a human being, or I should have called for help. 

Sir Clement, with great earnestness, endeavoured to appease 
and compose me : “ if you do not intend to murder me,” cried I, 
“ for mercy’s, for pity’s sake, let me get out !” 

“ Compose your spirits, ray dearest life,” cried he, “ and I will 
•do every thing you would have me.” And then he called to the 
man himself, and bade him make haste to Queen-Anne-street. 
“ This stupid fellow,” continued he, “ has certainly mistaken my 
orders ; but I hope you are now fully satisfied.” 

I made no answer, but kept ray head at the window, watching 
which way he drove, but without any comfort to myself, as I 
was quite unacquainted with either the right or the wrong. 

Sir Clement now poured forth abundant protestations of 
honour and assurances of respect, entreating my pardon for 
having offended me, and beseeching my good opinion : but I was 


EVELINA. 


116 


quite silent, having too much apprehension to make reproaches, 
and too much anger to speak without. 

In this manner we went through several streets, till at last, to 
my great terror, he suddenly ordered the man to stop, and said, 
“ Miss Anville, we are now within twenty yards of your house ; 
but I cannot bear to part with you till you generously forgive 
me for the offence you have taken, and promise not to make it 
known to the Mirvans.” 

I hesitated between fear and indignation. 

“ Your reluctance to speak redoubles my contrition for having 
displeased you, since it shows the reliance I might have on a 
promise which you will not give without consideration.” 

“ I am very, very much distressed,” cried I. “ You ask a pro- 
mise which you must be sensible I ought not to grant, and yet 
dare not refuse.” 

“ Drive on !” cried he to the coachman : “ Miss Anville, I will 
not compel you ; I will exact no promise, but trust wholly to 
your generosity.” 

This rather softened me ; which advantage he no sooner per- 
ceived, than he determined to avail himself of ; for -he flung 
himself on his knees, and pleaded with so much submission that 
I was really obliged to forgive him, because his humiliation 
made me quite ashamed : and, after that, he would not let me 
rest till I gave him my word that I would not complain of him 
to Mrs. Mir van. 

My own folly and pride, which had put me in his power, were 
pleas which I could not but attend to in his favor. However, I 
shall take very particular care never to be again alone with him. 

When, at last, we arrived at our house, I was so overjoyed, 
that I should certainly have pardoned him then, if I had not 
before. As he handed me up stairs, he scolded his servant aloud, 
and very angrily, for having gone so much out of the way. Miss 
Mirvan ran out to meet me ; and who should I see behind her 
but Lord Orville. 

All my joy now vanished, and gave place to shame and con- 
fusion ; for I could not endure that he should know how long a 


116 


EVELINA. 


time Sir Clement and I had been together, since I was not at 
liberty to assign any reason for it. 

They all expressed great satisfaction at seeing me ; and said 
they had been extremely uneasy and surprised that I was so long 
coming home, as they had heard from Lord Orville that I was 
not with Madame Duval. Sir Clement, in an affected passion, 
said, that his booby of a servant had misunderstood his orders, 
and was driving us to the upper end of Piccadilly. For my 
part, I only coloured ; for though I would not forfeit my word, I 
yet disdained to confirm a tale in which I had myself no belief. 

Lord Orville, with great politeness, congratulated me that the 
troubles cf the evening had so happily ended ; and said, that he 
had found it impossible to return home before he inquired after 
my safety. • 

In a very short time he took his leave, and Sir Clement fol- 
lowed him. As soon as they were gone, Mrs. Mirvan, though 
with great softness, blamed me for having quitted Madame Duval. 
I assured her, and with truth, that for the future I would be more 
prudent. 

The adventures of the evening bad so much disconcerted me, 
that I could not sleep all night. I am under the most painful 
apprehensions lest Lord Orville should suppose my being on the 
gallery stairs with Sir Clement was a concerted scheme, and even 
that our continuing so long together in his chariot was with my 
approbation, since I did not say a word on the subject, nor ex- 
press any. dissatisfaction at the coachman’s pretended blunder. 

Yet his coming hither to wait our arrival, though it seems to 
imply some doubt, shows also some anxiety. Indeed, Miss Mir- 
van says that he appeared extremely anxious, nay, uneasy and 
impatient for my return. If I did not fear to flatter myself, I 
should think it not impossible but that he had suspicion of Sir 
Clement’s design, and was therefore concerned for my safety. 

What a long letter is this ! However, I shall not write any 
more from London ; for the captain said this morning that ho 
would leave town on Tuesday next. Madame Duval will dine 
here to-day, and then she is to be told his intention. 


EVELINA. 


iir 

I am very much amazed that she accepted Mrs. Mirvan’s invi- 
tation, as she was in such wrath yesterday. I fear that to-day I 
myself shall be the principal object of her displeasure ; but I 
must submit patiently, for I cannot defend myself. 

Adieu, my dearest sir. Should this letter be productive of 
any uneasiness to you, more than ever shall I repent the heedless 
imprudence which it recites. 


LETTER XXII. 

Evelina in continuation. 

Monday morning, April 18. 

Mrs. Mirvan has just communicated to me an anecdote con- 
cerning Lord Orville, which has much surprised, half pleased, 
and half-pained me. 

While they were sitting together during the Opera, he told 
her that he had been greatly concerned at the impertinence 
which the young lady under her protection had suffered from 
Mr. Lovel ; but that he had the pleasure of assuring her, she had 
no future disturbance to apprehend from him. 

Mrs. Mirvan, with great eagerness, begged he would explain 
himself ; and said she hoped he had not thought so insignificant 
an affair worthy his serious attention. 

“ There is nothing,” answered he, “ which requires more im- 
mediate notice than impertinence, for it ever encroaches when 
it is tolerated.” He then added, that he believed he ought to 
apologize for the liberty he had taken in interfering ; but that 
as he regarded himself in the light of a party concerned., from 
having had the honour of dancing with Miss Anville, he could 
not possibly reconcile to himself a patient neutrality. 

He then proceeded to tell her that he had waited upon Mr. 
Lovel the morning after the play ; that the visit had proved an 
amicable one, but the particulars were neither entertaining nor 
necessary ; he only assured her Miss Anville might be perfectly 


118 


EVELINA. 


easy, since Mr. Level had engaged his honour never more to 
mention, or even to hint at what had passed at Mrs. Stanley’s 
assembly. 

Mrs. Mirvan expressed her satisfaction at this conclusion, and 
thanked him for his polite attention to her young friend. 

“ It would be needless,” said he, “ to request that this affair 
may never transpire, since Mrs. Mirvan cannot but see the 
necessity of keeping it inviolably secret ; but I thought it incum- 
bent upon me, as the young lady is under your protection, to 
assure both you and her of Mr. Lovel’s future respect.” 

Had I known of this visit previous to Lord Orville’s making 
it, what dreadful uneasiness would it have cost me ! Yet that 
he should so much interest himself in securing me from offence 
gives me, I must own, an internal pleasure, greater than I can 
express ; for I feared he had too contemptuous an opinion of me 
to take any trouble upon my account. Though, after all, this 
interference might rather be to satisfy his own delicacy than 
from thinking well of me. 

But how cool, how quiet is true courage ! Who, from seeing 
Lord Orville at the play^ would have imagined his resentment 
would have hazarded his life ? yet his displeasure was evident, 
though his real bravery and his politeness equally guarded him 
from entering into any discussion in our presence. 

Madame Duval, as I expected, was most terribly angry yester- 
day; she scolded me'for, I believe, two hours, on account of having 
left her ; and protested she had baen so much surprised at my 
going without giving her time to answer, that she hardly knew 
whether she was awake or asleep. But she assured me that if 
ever I did so again, she would never more take me into public. 
And she expressed an equal degree of displeasure against Sir 
Clement, because he had not even spoken to her, and because he 
was always of the captain’s side in an argument. The captain, 
as bound in honour, warmly defended him, and then followed a 
dispute in the usual style. 

After dinner, Mrs. Mirvan introduced the subject of our leav- 
ing London. Madame Duval said she should stay a month or 


EVELINA. 


119 


two longer. The captain told her she was welcome, but that he 
and his family should go into the country on Tuesday morning. 

A most disagreeable scerie followed. Madame Duval insisted 
upon keeping me with her ; but Mrs. Mirvan said, that as I was 
actually engaged on a visit to Lady Howard, who had only con- 
sented to ray leaving her for a few days, she could not think of 
returning without me. 

Perhaps, if the captain had not interfered, the good-breeding 
and mildness of Mrs. Mirvan might have had some effect upon 
Madame Duval : but he passes no opportunity of provoking her ; 
and therefore made so many gross and rude speeches, all of 
which she retorted, that, in conclusion, she vowed she would 
sooner go to law in right of her relationship, than that I should 
be taken away from her. 

I heard this account from Mrs. Mirvan, who was so kindly 
considerate as to give me a pretence for quitting the room as 
soon as the dispute began, lest Madame Duval should refer to 
me, and insist on my obedience. 

The final result of the conversation was, that, to soften matters 
for the present, Madame Duval should make one in the party to 
Howard Grove, whither we are positively to go next Wednes- 
day. And though we are none of us satisfied with this plan, we 
know not how to form a better. 

Mrs. Mirvan is now writing to Lady Howard, to excuse bring- 
ing this unexpected guest, and prevent the disagreeable surprise 
which must otherwise attend her reception. This dear lady 
seems eternally studying ray happiness and advantage. 

To-night we go to the Pantheon, which is the last diversion 
we shall partake of in London ; for to-morrow — 

This moment, ray dearest sir, I have received your kind letter. 

If you thought us too dissipated the first week, I almost fear 
to know what you will think of us this second : however, the 
Pantheon this evening will probably be the last public place 
which I shall ever see. 

The assurance of your support and protection in regard to 


120 


EVELINA. 


Madame Duval, though what I never doubted, excites my utmost 
gratitude. How, indeed, cherished under your roof, the happy 
object of your constant indulgence, how could I have borne to 
become the slave of her tyrannical humours ? — Pardon me that I 
speak so hardly of her; but whenever the idea of passing ray 
days with her occurs to me, the comparison which naturally 
follows takes from me all that forbearance which, I believe, I 
owe her. 

You are already displeased with Sir Clement : to be sure? 
then, his behaviour after the opera will not make his peace with 
you. Indeed, the more I reflect upon it, the more angry I am. 
I was entirely in his power, and it was cruel in him to cause me 
so much terror. 

0, my dearest sir, were I but worthy the prayers and the wishes 
you offer for me, the utmost ambition of my heart would be 
fully satisfied ! but I greatly fear you will find me, now that I 
am out of the reach of your assisting prudence, more weak and 
imperfect than you could have expected. 

I have not now time to write another word, for I must imme- 
diately hasten to dress for the evening 


LETTER XXIII. 
Evelina in cmtinuation. 


Queen-Anne-Street, Tuesday, April 19. 

There is something to me half-melancholy in writing an 
account of our last adventures in London. However, as this day 
is merely appropriated to packing and preparations for our 
journey, and as I shall shortly have no more adventures to 
write, I think I may as well complete my town journal at once : 
and when you have it altogether, I hope, ray dear sir, vou will 
send me your observations and thoughts uj)on it to Howard 
Grove. 

About eight o’clock we went to the Pantheon. I was ex- 


EVELINA. 


121 


tremely struck with the beauty of the building, which greatly 
surpassed whatever I could have expected or imagined. Yet it 
has more the appearance of a chapel than of a place of diver- 
sion ; and though I was quite charmed with the magnificence of 
the room, I felt that I could not be as gay and thoughtless there 
as at Ranelagh ; for there is something in it which rather 
inspires awe and solemnity than mirth and pleasure. However, 
perhaps, it may only have this effect upon such a novice as 
myself. 

I should have said, that our party consisted only of Captain, 
Mrs., and Miss Mirvan, as Madame Duval spent the day in the 
city ; which I own I could not lament. 

There was a great deal of company ; but the first person we 
saw was Sir Clement Willoughby. He addressed us with his 
usual ease, and joined us for the whole evening. I felt myself 
very uneasy in his presence ; for I could not look at him, nor 
hear him speak, without recollecting the chariot adventure ; but 
to my great amazement, I observed that he looked at me with- 
out the least apparent discomposure, though, certainly, he ought 
not to think of his behaviour without blushing. I really wish I 
had not forgiven him, and then he could not have ventured to 
speak to me any more. 

There was an exceeding good concert, but too much talking 
to hear it well. Indeed, I am quite astonished to find how little 
music is attended to in silence ; for — though everybody seems to 
admire, hardly anybody listens. 

We did not see Lord Orville till we went into the tea-room, 
which is large, low, and under ground, and serves merely as a 
foil to the apartments above ; he then sat next to us. He 
seemed to belong to a large party, chiefly of ladies ; but among 
the gentlemen attending them I perceived Mr. Lovel. 

I was extremely irresolute whether or not I ought to make 
any acknowledgments to Lord Orville for his generous conduct 
in securing me from the future impertinence of that man ; and I 
thought, that, as he had seemed to allow Mrs. Mirvan to acquaint 
me, though no one else, of the measures which he had taken, he 

6 


122 


EVELINA. 


might, perhaps, suppose me ungrateful if silent: however, I 
might have spared myself the trouble of deliberating, as I never 
once had the shadow of an opportunity of speaking unheard by 
Sir Clement. On the contrary, he was so exceedingly officious 
and forward, that I could not say a w'ord to anybody but 
instantly he bent his head forward, with an air of profound atten- 
tion, as if I had addressed myself wholly to him ; and yet I never 
once looked at him, and would not have spoken to him on any 
account. 

Indeed, Mrs. Mirvan herself, though unacquainted with the 
behaviour of Sir Clement after the opera, says it is not right for 
a young woman to be seen so frequently in public with the same 
gentleman ; and if our stay in town was to be lengthened, she 
would endeavour to represent to the captain the impropriety of 
allowing his constant attendance ; for Sir Clement, with all his 
easiness^ could not be so eternally of our parties if the captain 
was less fond of his company. 

At the same table with Lord Orville sat a gentleman, — I call 
him so only because he was at the same table, — who, almost from 
the moment I was seated, fixed his eyes steadfastly on my face, 
and never once removed them to any other object during tea- 
time, notwithstanding my dislike of his staring must, I am sure, 
have been very evident. I was quite surprised, that a man whose 
boldness was so oflfensive could have gained admission into a 
party of which Lord Orville made one ; for I naturally concluded 
him to be some low-bred, uneducated man, and I thought my 
idea was indubitably confirmed when I heard him say to Sir 
Clement Willoughby, in an audible whisper ^ — which is a mode 
of speech very distressing and disagreeable to bystanders, — “ For 
Heaven’s sake, Willoughby, who is that lovely creature ?” 

But what was my amazement, when, listening attentively for 
the answer, though my head was turned another way, I heard 
Sir Clement say, “ I am sorry I cannot inform your lordship, 
but I am ignorant myself.” 

Lordship ! how extraordinary ! that a nobleman, accustomed, 
in all probability, to the first rank of company in the kingdom 


EVELINA. 


123 


from his earliest infancy, can possibly be deficient in good manners^ 
however faulty in morals and principles ! Even Sir Clement 
Willoughby appeared modest in comparison with this person. 

During tea, a conversation was commenced upon the times, 
fashions, and public places, in which the company of both tables 
joined. It began by Sir Clement’s inquiring of Miss Mirvan and 
of me if the Pantheon had answered our expectations. 

We both readily agreed that it had greatly exceeded them. 

“ Ay, to be sure,” said the captain ; “ why you don’t suppose 
they’d confess they didn’t like it, do. you ? Whatever’s the fash- 
ion, they must like of course ; or else I’d be bound for it they’d 
own that there never was such a dull place as this here im 
vented.” 

“ And has, then, this building,” said Lord Orville “ no merit 
that may serve to lessen your censure ? Will not your eye, sir, 
speak something in its favour ?” 

“ Eye !” cried the lord (I don’t know his name), “ and is there 
any eye here that can find pleasure in looking at dead walls or 
statues, when such heavenly living objects as I now see demand 
all their admiration ?” 

“ 0 certainly,” said Lord Orville, “ the lifeless symmetry of 
architecture, however beautiful the design and proportion, no man 
would be so mad as to put in competition with the animated 
charms of nature : but when, as to-night, the eye may be regaled 
at the same time, and in one view, with all the excellence of art 
and all the perfection of nature, I cannot think that either suffers 
by being seen together.” 

“ I grant, my lord,” said Sir Clement, “ that the cool eye of 
unimpassioned philosophy may view both with equal attention 
and equal safety ; but where the heart is not so well guarded, it 
is apt to interfere, and render, even to the eye, all objects but 
one insipid and uninteresting.” 

“ Ay, ay,” cried the captain, “ you may talk what you will of 
your eye here, and your eye there, and, for the matter of that, 
to be sure you have two,— but we all know they both squint one 
way.” 


124 


EVELINA. 


“ Far be it from me,” said Lord Orville, “ to dispute the mag- 
netic power of beauty, which irresistibly draws and attracts what- 
ever has soul and sympathy : and I am happy to acknowledge, 
that though we have now no gods to occupy a mansion profess- 
edly built for them, yet we have secured their better halves, for 
we have goddesses to whom we all most willingly bow down.” 
And then, with a very droll air, he made a profound reverence 
to the ladies. 

“ They’d need to be goddesses with a vengeance,” said the 
captain, “ for they’re mortal dear to look at. Howsomever, I 
should be glad to know what you can see in e’er a face among 
them that’s worth half a guinea for a sight.” 

“ Half a guinea I” exclaimed that same lord, “ I would give 
half I am worth for a sight of only one, provided I make my own 
choice. And, prithee, how can money be better employed than 
in the service of fine women ?” 

“If the ladies of his own party can pardon the captain’s 
speech,” said Sir Clement, “ I think he has a fair claim to the 
forgiveness of all.” 

“ Then you depend very much, as I doubt not but you may,” 
said Lord Orville, “ upon the general sweetness of the sex : but 
as to the ladies of the captain’s party, they may easily pardon, 
for they cannot be hurt.” 

“ But they must have a devilish good conceit of themselves, 
though,” said the captain : “ to believe all that. Howsomever, 
whether or no, I should be glad to be told by some of you, who 
seem to be knowing in them things, what kind of diversion can 
be found in such a place as this here for one who has had long 
ago his full of face-hunting ?” 

Everybody laughed, but nobody spoke. 

“ Why, look you there now,” continued the captain, “ you’re 
all at a dead stand ! — not a man among you can answer that 
there question. Why, then, I must make bold to conclude, that 
you all come here for no manner of purpose but to stare at one 
another’s pretty faces : though, for the matter of that, half of 


EVELINA. 


125 


’em are plaguy ugly ; and as to t’other half, I believe it’s none of 
God’s manufactory.’’ 

“ What the ladies may come hither for, sir,” said Mr. Lovel 
(stroking his ruffles, and looking down), “ it would ill become us 
to determine ; but as to us men, doubtless we can have no other 
view than to admire them.” 

“ If I ben’t mistaken,” cried the captain (looking earnestly in 
his face), “ you are that same person we saw at ‘ Love for Love ’ 
t’other night ; ben’t you ?” 

Mr. Lovel bowed. 

“ Why, then, gentlemen,” continued he, with a loud laugh, “ I 
must tell you a most excellent good joke ; when all was over, as 
sure as you’re alive, he asked what the play was ! Ha, ha, ha !” 

“ Sir,” said Mr. Lovel, colouring, “ if you were as much used 
to a town life as I am, — which I presume is not' precisely the 
case, — I fancy you would not find so much diversion from a cir- 
cumstance so common.” 

“ Common ! what, is it common ?” repeated the captain ; “ why 
then, ’fore George, such chaps are more fit to be sent to school, 
and well disciplined with a cat-o’-nine tails, than to poke their 
heads into a playhouse. Why, a playhouse is the only thing 
left now-a-days that has a grain of sense in it ; for as to all the 
rest of your public places, d’ye see, if they were all put together, 
I wouldn’t give that for ’em ! (snapping his fingers.) And now 
we’re talking of them sort of things, there’s your operas, — I 
should like to know, now, what any of you can find to say for 
them.” 

Lord Orville, who was most able to have answered, seemed 
by no means to think the captain worthy an argument upon a 
subject concerning which he had neither knowledge nor feeling : 
but, turning to us, he said, “The ladies are silent, and we seem 
to have engrossed the conversation to ourselves, in which we are 
much more our own enemies than theirs. But,” addressing him- 
self to Miss Mirvan and me, “ I am most desirous to hear the 
opinions of these young ladies, to whom all public places must, as 
yet, be new.” 


126 


EVELINA. 


We both, and with eagerness, declared that we had received 
as much, if not more, pleasure at the opera than any where ; but 
we had better have been silent ; for the captain, quite displeased, 
said, “ What signifies asking them girls ? Do you think they 
know their own minds yet? Ask ’em after any thing that’s 
called diversion, and you’re sure they’ll say it’s vastly fine : they 
are a set of parrots, and speak by rote, for they all say the same 
thing : but ask ’em how they like making puddings and pies, 
and I’ll warrant you’ll pose ’em. As to them operas, I desire I 
may hear no more of their liking such nonsense ; and for you, 
Moll (to his daughter), I charge you, as you value my favour, 
that you’ll never again be so impertinent as to have a taste of 
yoiir own befoi-e my face. There are fools enough in this w'orld, 
without your adding to their number. I’ll have no daughter of 
mine aftect them sort of megrims. It is a shame they ain’t put 
down ; and if I’d my will, there’s not a magistrate ' in the town 
but should be knocked on the head for sufiering them. If you’ve 
a mind to praise any thing, why you may praise a play, and 
welcome, for I like it myself.” 

“ This reproof effectually silenced us both for the rest of the 
evening. Nay, indeed, for some minutes it seemed to silence 
every body else; till Mr. Lovel, not willing to lose an opportu- 
nity of returning the captain’s sarcasm, said, “Why, really, sir, 
it is but natural to be most pleased with what is most familiar; 
and I think, of all our diversions, there is not one so much in 
common between us and the country as a play. Not a village 
but has its barn and comedians ; and as for the stage business, 
why it may be pretty equally done any where : and even in 
regard to us and the canaille^ confined as we all are within the 
semicircle of a theatre, there is no place where the distinction is 
less obvious. 

While the captain seemed considering for Mr. Lovel’s mean- 
ing, Lord Orville, probably with a view to prevent his finding 
it, changed the subject to Cox’s Museum, and asked what he 
thought of it. 

“ Think !” said he, “ why I think as how it ain’t worth think- 


I 


EVELINA. 127 

ing about. I like no such gimcraclcs. It is only fit, in my mind, 
for monkeys ; though, for aught I know, they too may turn up 
their noses at it.’^ 

“ May we ask your lordship’s own opinion ?” said Mrs. Mirvan. 

“ The mechanism,” answered he, “ is wonderfully ingenious ; I 
am sorry it is turned to no better account ; but its purport is - so 
frivolous, so very remote from all aim at instruction or utility, 
that the sight of so fine a show only leaves a regret on the 
mind that so much w’ork and so much ingenuity should not be 
better bestowed.” 

“ The truth is,” said the captain, “ that in all this huge towm, 
so full as it is of folks of all sorts, there ain’t so much as one pub- 
lic place, besides the playhouse, where a man, that’s to say a 
man who is a man, ought not to be ashamed to show his face. 
T’other day they got me to a ridotto; but I believe it will be 
long enough before they get me to another. I knew no more 
what to do with myself than if my ship’s company had been 
metamorphosed into Frenchmen. Then, again, there’s your 
famous Ranelagh, that you make such a fuss about ; — why, what 
a dull place is that! — it’s the worst of all.” 

“ Ranelagh dull 1 Ranelagh dull !” was echoed from mouth to 
mouth ; and all the ladies, as if of one accord, regarded the cap- 
tai-n with looks of the most ironical contempt. 

“As to Ranelagh,” said Mr. Lovel, “ most indubitably, though 
the price is plebeian, it is by no means adapted to the plebeian 
taste. It requires a certain acquaintance with high life, and — 
find — and something of— of— something (Tun vrai gout, to be 
really sensible of its merit. Those whose — whose connexions, 
and so forth, are not among les gens comme il faut can feel no- 
thing but ennui at such a place Ranelagh.” 

“ Ranelagh 1” cried Lord , “ 0, ’tis the divinest place un- 
der heaven,— or, indeed, for ought I know” 

“ O you creature 1” cried a pretty but affected young lady, 
patting’^him with her fan, “ you shan’t talk so; I know what you 
are going to say ; but positively, I won’t sit by you if you’re so 
wicked.” 


128 


EVELINA. 


“ And how can one sit by you and be good ?” said he, “ when 
only to look at you is enough to make one wicked — or wish to 
be so?” 

“Fy, my lord?” returned she, “you are really insuflferable. 
I don’t think I shall speak to you again these seven years.” 

“ What a metamorphosis,” cried Lord Orville, “ should you 
make a patriarch of his lordship !” 

“ Seven years !” said he ; “ dear madam, be contented with 
telling me you will not speak to me after seven years, I will en- 
deavour to subniit.” 

“0, very well, my lord,” answered she, “pray date the end of 
our speaking to each other as early as you please ; I’ll promise 
to agree to your time.” 

“ You know, dear madam,” said he, sipping his tea, “ you 
know I only live in your sight.” 

“ O yes, my lord, I have long known that. But I begin to 
fear we shall be too late for Ranelagh this evening.” 

“ O no, madam,” said Mr. Lovel, looking at his watch, “ it is 
but just past ten.” 

“ No more ?” cried she. “ O then we shall do very well.” 

All the ladies now started up, and declared they had no time 
to lose. 

“ Why, what the d — 1,” cried the captain, leaning forward 
with both his arms on the table, “ are you going to Ranelagh at 
this time of night ?” 

The ladies looked at one another and smiled. 

“ To Ranelagh !” cried Lord . “ Yes, and I hope you are 

going too : for we cannot possibly excuse these ladies.” 

“ I go to Ranelagh ! if I do. I’ll be” 

Every body now stood up, and the stranger lord coming round 
to me, said, “ you go, I hope ?” 

“ No, my lord, I believe not.” 

“ O, you cannot, must not be so barbarous.” And he took my 
hand, and ran on, saying such fine speeches and compliments, 
that I might almost have supposed myself a goddess, and him a 
pagan paying me adoration. As soon as I possibly could, I drew 


EVELINA. 


129 


back my hand; but he frequently, in the course of conversation, 
contrived to take it again, though it was extremely disagree- 
able to me, and the more so as I saw that Lord Orville had 
his eyes fixed upon us, with a gravity of attention that made me 
uneasy. 

And surely, my dear sir, it was a great liberty in this lord, 
notwithstanding his rank, to treat me so freely. As to Sir 
Clement, he seemed in misery'. 

They all endeavoured to prevail with the captain to join the 
Ranelagh party ; and this lord told me, in a low voice, that it 
was tearing his heart out to go without me. 

During this conversation, Mr. Lovel came forward, and, assum- 
ing a look of surprise, made me a bow, and inquired how I did, 
protesting, upon his honour, that he had not seen me before, or 
he would sooner have paid his respects to me. 

Though his politeness was evidently constrained, yet I was 
very glad to be thus assured of having nothing more to fear 
from him. 

The captain, far from listening to their persuasions of accom- 
panying them to Ranelagh, was quite in a passion at the pro- 
posal, and vowed he would sooner go to the blacJc-hole in Cal- 
cutta. 

“ But,” said Lord , “ if the ladies will take their tea at 

Ranelagh, you may depend upon our seeing them safe home; for 
we shall all be proud of the honour of attending them,” 

“ Maybe so,” said the captain ; “ but I’ll tell you what, if one 
of these places ben’t enough for them to-night, why, to-morrow 
they shall go to ne’er a one.” 

We instantly declared ourselves very ready to go home. 

“It is not for, yourselves that we petition,” said Lord , 

“ but for us ; if you have any charity, you will not be so cruel 
as to deny us ; we only beg you to prolong our happiness for a few 
minutes : the favour is but a small one for you to grant, though 
so great a one for us to receive.” 

“ To tell you a piece of my mind,” said the captain, surlily, 
“ I think you might as well not give the girls so much of this 

6 * 


130 


EVELINA. 


palaver ; they’ll take it all for gospel. As to Moll, why she’s 
well enough, but nothing extraordinary ; though, perhaps, you 
may persuade her that her pug-nose is all the fashion ; and as to 
the other, why she’s good white and red, to be sure ; but what 
of that? ni warrant she’ll moulder away as fast as her neigh- 
bours.” 

“ Is there,” cried Lord , “ another man in this place who, 

seeing such objects, could make such a speech ?” 

“As to that there,” returned the captain, “I don’t know 
whether there be or no, and, to make free, I don’t care ; for I 
sha’n’t go for to model myself by any of these fair-weather chaps, 
who dare not so much as say their souls are their own, — and, 
for aught I know, no more they ben’t. I’m almost as much 
ashamed of my countrymen as if I was a Frenchman, and I 
believe in my heart there ain’t a pin to choose between them ; 
and before long we shall hear the very sailors talking that lingo, 
and see never a swabber without a bag and a sword.” 

“lie, he, he! Well, ’pon honour,” cried Mr. Lovel, “you 
gentlemen of the ocean have a most severe way of judging.” 

“ Severe ! ’fore George, that is impossible ; for to cut the mat- 
ter short, the men, as they call themselves, are no better than 
monkeys ; and as to the women, why they are mere dolls. So 
now you’ve got m^^ opinion of this subject ; and so I wish you 
good-night.” 

“The ladies, who were very impatient to be gone, made their 
courtesies, and tripped away, followed by all the gentlemen of 
their party, except the lord before mentioned and Lord Orville, 
who staid to make enquiries of Mrs. Mirvan concerning our leav- 
ing town ; and then saying, with his usual politeness, something 
civil to each of us, with a very grave air he quitted us. 

Lord remained some minutes longer, which he spent in 

making a profusion of compliments to me ; by which he prevent- 
ed my hearing distinctly what Lord Orville said, to my great vex- 
ation, especially as he looked — I thought- so, at least — as if dis- 
pleased at his particularity of behaviour to me. 

In going to an outward room to wait for the carriage, I walk* 


EVELINA. 


131 


ed, and could not possibly avoid it, between this nobleman and 
Sir Clement Willoughby; and, when the servant said-the coach 
stopped the way, though the latter offered me his liand, which I 
should much have prefered this same lord, without any ceremony, 
took mine himself ; and Sir Clement, with a look extremely pro- 
voked, conducted Mrs. Mirvan. 

In all ranks and all stations of life, how strangely do characters 
and manners differ ? Lord Orville, with a politeness which knows 
no intermission and makes no distinction, is as unassuming and 
modest as if he had never mixed with the great, and v/as totally 
ignorant of every qualification he possesses : this other lord, though 
lavish of compliments and fine speeches, seems to me an entire strang- 
er to real good-breeding ; whoever strikes his fancy engrosses his 
whole attention. He is forward and bold ; has an air of haugh- 
tiness towards men, and a look of libertinism towards women; 
and his conscious quality seems to have given him a freedom in his 
way of speaking to either sex that is very little short of rudeness. 

When we returned home we were all low-spirited. The even- 
ing’s entertainment had displeased the captain ; and his displea- 
sure, I believe, disconcerted us all. 

And here I thought to have concluded my letter ; but to my 
great surprise, just now we had a visit from Lord Orville. He 
called he said to pay his respects to us before we left town, and 
made many inquiries concerning our return ; and when Mrs. Mir- 
van told him we were going into the country without any view 
of again quitting it, he expressed his concern in such terms — so 
polite, so flattering, so serious — that I could hardly forbear being 
sorry myself. Were I to go immediately to Berry Hill, I am 
sure I should feel nothing but joy ; but now we are joined by 
this captain and by Madame Duval, I must own, I expect very 
little pleasure at Howard Grove. 

Before Lord Orville went. Sir Clement Willoughby called. 
He was more grave than I had ever seen him ; and made s'everal 
attempts to speak to me in a low voice, and to assure me that 
his regret upon the occasion of our journey was entirely upon my 
account. But I was not in spirits, and could not bear to be teased 


132 


EVELINA. 


by bim. However, he has so well paid his court to Captain Mir 
van, that he gave him a very hearty invitation to the Grove. At 
this he brightened, and just then Lord Orville took leave. 

No doubt but he was disgusted at this ill-timed, ill-bred par- 
tiality ; for surely it was very wrong to make an invitation before 
Lord Orville in which he was not included ! I was so much 
chagrined, that as soon as he went I left the room ; and I shall 
not go down stairs till Sir Clement is gone. 

Lord Orville cannot but observe his assiduous endeavours to 
ingratiate himself into my favour ; and does not this extravagant 
civility of Captain Mirvan give him reason to suppose that it 
meets with our general approbation ? I cannot think upon this 
subject without inexpressible uneasiness ; and yet I can think of 
nothing else. 

Adieu, my dearest sir. Pray write to me immediately. How 
many long letters has this one short fortnight produced ! More 
than I may probably ever write again. I fear I shall have tired 
you with reading them ; but you will now have time to rest, for 
I shall find but little to say in future. 

And now, most honored sir, with all the follies and imperfec- 
tions which I have thus faithfully recounted, can you, and with 
unabated kindness, suffer me to sign myself. 

Your dutiful and most affectionate 

Evelina ? 


LETTER XXIV. 

Mr, Villars to Evelina. 

Berry Hil), April 22. 

How much do I rejoice that I can again address my letters to 
Howard Grove ! My Evelina would have grieved had she known 
the anxiety of my mind during her residence in the great world. 
My apprehensions have been inexpressibly alarming ; and your 
journal, at once exciting and relieving my fears, has almost wholly 
occupied me since the time of your dating it from London. 


EVELINA. 


133 


Sir Clement Willoughby must be an artful, designing man ; I 
am extremely irritated at his conduct. The passion he pretends 
for you has neither sincerity nor honour ; the manner and the 
opportunities he has chosen to declare it are bordering upon in- 
sult. 

His unworthy behaviour after the opera convinces me, that, 
had not your vehemence frightened him, Queen-Anne-street 
would have been the last place wither he would have ordered his 
chariot. 0, my child, how thankful am I for your escape ! I 
need not, now, I am sure, enlarge upon your indiscretion and 
want of thought in so hastily trusting yourself with a man so 
little known to you, and whose gayety and flightiness should have 
put you on your guard. 

The nobleman you met at the Pantheon, bold and forward as 
you describe him to be, gives me no apprehension ; a man who 
appears so openly licentious, and who makes his attack with so 
little regard to decorum, is one who, to a mind such as my Eve- 
lina’s, can never be seen but with the disgust which his manners 
ought to excite. 

But Sir Clement, though he seeks occasion to give real 
offence, contrives to avoid all appearance of intentional evil. He 
is far more dangerous, because more artful ; but I am happy to 
observe that he seems to have made no impression upon your 
heart ; and therefore a very little care and prudence may secure 
you from those designs which I fear he has formed. 

Lord Orville appears to be of a better order of beings. His 
spirited conduct to the meanly impertinent Lovel, and his anxiety 
for you after the opera, prove him to be a man of sense and of feel- 
ing. Doubtless he thought there was much reason to tremble for 
your safety while exposed to the power of Sir Clement ; and ‘he 
acted with a regard to real honour that will always incline me to 
think well of him, in so immediately acquainting the Mirvan fam- 
ily of your situation. Many men of this age from a false and pre- 
tended delicacy to a friend, would have quietly pursued their own 
affairs, and thought it more honourable to leave an unsuspecting 


134 


EVELINA.^ 


young creature to tlie mercy of a libertine, than to risk his dis- 
pleasure by taking measures for her security. 

Your evident concern at leaving London is very natural, and 
yet it afflicts me. I ever dreaded your being too much pleased 
with a life of dissipation, which youth and vivacity render but 
too alluring; and I almost regret the consent for your journey, 
which I had not the resolution to withhold. 

Alas, my child, the artlessness of your nature, and the sim- 
plicity of your education, alike unfit you for the thorny paths of 
the great and busy world. The supposed obscurity of your birth 
■and situation makes you liable to a thousand disagreeable adven- 
tures. Not only my views, but my hopes for your future life 
have ever centred in the country. Shall I own to you, that, how- 
ever I may difier from Captain Mirvan in other respects, yet 
my opinion of the town, its manners, inhabitants, and diversions 
is much upon a level with his own ? Indeed, it is the general har- 
bour of fraud and of folly, of duplicity and of impertinence; and 
I wish few things more fervently than that you may have taken 
a- lasting leave of it. 

Remember, however, that I only speak in regard to a public 
and dissipated life ; in private families we may doubtless find 
as much goodness, honesty, and virtue in London as in the couu- 

tiy- 

If contented with a retired station, I still hope I shall live to 
see my Evelina the ornament of her neighbourhood, and the pi ide 
and delight of her family ; giving and receiving joy from such 
society as may best deserve her aftection, and employing herself 
in such useful and innocent occupations as may secure and merit 
the tenderest love of her friends, and the worthiest satisfaction of 
her own heart. 

Such are my hopes, and such have been my expectations. Dis- 
appoint them not, my beloved child ; but cheer me with a few 
lines that may assure me this one short fortnight spent in town 
has not undone the work of seventeen years spent in the coun- 
try. 


Arthur Villars. 


EVELINA. 


135 


LETTER XXV. 

Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 

Howard Grove, April 25. 

No, my dear sir, no : the work of seventeen years remains such 
as it was, ever unworthy of your time and your labour ; but not 
more so now, at least I hope not, than before that fortnight which 
has so much alarmed you. 

And yet I must confess that I am not half so happy here at 
present as I was ere I went to town : but the change is in the 
place not in me. Captain 'Mirvan and Madame Duval have ruined 
Howard Grove. The harmony that reigned here is disturbed, 
our schemes are broken, our way of life is altered, and our com- 
fort is destroyed. But do not suppose London to be the source 
of these evils ; for had our excursion been any where else, so dis- 
agreeable an addition to our household must have caused the 

O 

same change at our return. 

I was sure you would be displeased with Sir Clement Willough- 
by, and therefore I am by no means surprised at what you say of 
him ; but for Lord Orville, I must own I had greatly feared that my 
weak and imperfect account would not have procured him the 
good opinion which he so well deserves, and which I am delighted 
to find you seem to have of him. O, sir, could I have done jus- 
tice to the merit of which I believe him possessed ; could I have 
painted him to you such as he appeared to me ; then indeed, 
you would have had some idea of the claim which he has to 
your approbation. 

After the last letter which I wrote in town, nothing more 
passed previous to our journey hither, except a very violent quar- 
rel between Captain Mirvan and Madame Duval. As the captain 
intended to travel on horseback, he had settled that we four 
females should make use of his coach. Madame Duval did not 
come to Queen-Anne-street till the carriage had waited some time 
at the door ; and then, attended by. Monsieur du Bois, she made 
her appearance. 


136 


EVELINA. 


The captain, impatient to be gone, would not suffer them to 
enter the house, but insisted that we should immediately get into 
the coach. We obeyed ; but were no sooner seated than 
Madame Duval said, “ Come, Monsieur du Bois, these girls can 
mate very good room for you : sit closer, children.” 

Mrs. Mirvan looked quite confounded ; and M. du Bois, after 
making some apologies about crowding us, actually got into the 
coach, on the side with Miss Mirvan and me. But no sooner 
was he seated than the captain, who had observed this transac- 
tion very quietly, walked up to the coach-door, saying, “ What, 
neither with your leave, nor by your leave ?” 

M. du Bois seemed rather shocked, and began to make abun- 
dance of excuses : but the captain neither understood nor' 
regarded him, and very roughly said, “Look’ee, monseer ^ this 
here may be a French fashion, for aught I know, — but give and 
take is fair in all nations ; and so now, d’ye see. I’ll make bold 
to show you an English one.” 

And then seizing his wrist, he made him jump out of the coach. 

M. du Bois instantly put his hand upon his sword, and threat- 
ened to resent this indignity. The captain, holding up his stick, 
bade him draw at his peril. Mrs. Mirvan, greatly alarmed, got 
out of the coach, and, standing between them, entreated her 
husband to re-enter the house. 

“ None of your clack !” cried he angrily ; “ what the d — 1, do 
you suppose I can’t manage a Frenchman ?” 

Meantime, Madame Duval called out to M. du Bois, “ A'A, 
laissez-le^ mon ami^ ne le corrigez pas; c'est un vilain hete qui 
n'en vaut pas la peine 

“ Monsieur le capitaine^'^ cried M. du Bois, “ voulez vous hien 
me demander pardon P 

“ 0 ho, you demand pardon, do you ?” said the captain ; “ I 
thought as much ; I thought you’d come to : so you have lost 
your relish for an English salutation, have you?” strutting up to 
him with looks of defiance. 

A crowd was now gathering, and Mrs Mirvan again besought 
her husband to go into the house. 


EVELINA. 


13Y 


“Why, what a plague is the woman afraid of? Did you 
ever know a Frenchman that could not take an affront? — I war- 
rant monseer knows what he is about : don’t you, monseer f” 

M. du Bois, not understanding him, only said, “ mon- 

sieur P 

“ No, nor dish me neither,” answered the captain ; “ but, be 
that as it may, what signifies our parleying here ? If you’ve any 
thing to propose, speak at once ; if not, why let us go on our 
journey without more ado.” 

“ Parhleu^ je rHentends rien^ moi /” cried M. du Bois, shrugging 
up his shoulders, and looking very dismal. 

Mrs. Mirvan then advanced to him, and said, in French, that 
she was sure the captain had not any intention to affront him, 
and begged he would desist from a dispute which could only be 
productive of mutual misunderstanding, as neither of them knew 
the language of the other. 

This sensible remonstrance had the desired effect ; and M. du 
Bois, making a bow to every one except the captain, very wisely 
gave up the. point, and took leave. 

We then hoped to proceed quietly on our journey ; but the 
turbulent captain would not yet permit us. He approached 
Madame Duval with an exulting air, and said, “Why, how’s this, 
madam ? what, has your champion deserted you ? why, I thought 
you told me, that you old^gentlewomen had it all your own way 
among them French sparks ?” 

“ As to that, sir,” answered she, “ it’s not of no consequence 
what you thought ; for a person who can behave in such a low 
way may think what he pleases for me, for I sha’n’t mind.” 

“ Why, then, mistress, since you must needs make so free,” 
cried he, “ please to tell me the reason why you took the liberty 
for to ask any of your followers into my coach without my leave ? 
Answer me to that.” 

“ Why, then, pray, sir,” returned she, “ tell me the reason why 
you took the liberty to treat the gentleman in such an unpolite 
way, as to take and pull him neck and heels out ? I’m sure he 
hadn’t done nothing to agront you, nor nobody else ; and I don’t 


138 


EVELINA. 


know what great hurt he would have done you, by just sitting 
still in the coach : he would not have eat it.” 

“ What, do you think, then, that my horses have nothing to 
do but to carry about your snivelling Frenchmen ? If you do, 
madam, I must make bold to tell you, you are out, for I’ll 
see ’em hanged first.” 

“ More brute you, then ! for they’ve never carried nobody half 
so good.” 

“ Why, look’ee, madam, if you must needs provoke me. I’ll 
tell you a piece of my mind : you must know, I can see as far 
into a millstone as another man ; and so, if you thought for to 
fob me off with one of your smirking French puppies for a son- 
in-law, why you’ll find yourself in a hobble, that’s all.” 

“ Sir, you’re a — but I won’t say what ; but I protest I hadn’t 
no such thought, no more hadn’t Monsieur du Bois.” 

“ My deal’,” said Mrs. Mirvan, “ we shall be very late.” 

“ Well, well,” answered he, “ get away then ; off with you as 
fast as you can, it’s high time. As to Molly, she’s fine lady 
enough in all conscience; I want none of your French chaps to 
make her worse.” 

And so saying he mounted his horse, and we drove oflf. And 
I could not but think with regret of the difierent feelings we 
experienced upon leaving London to what had belonged to our 
entering it. 

During the journey Madame Duval was so very violent against 
the captain, that she obliged Mrs. Mirvan to tell her, that when 
in her presence she must beg her to choose some other subject 
of discourse. 

We had a most aflfectionate reception from Lady Howard, 
whose kindness and hospitality cannot fail of making everybody 
happy who is disposed so to be. 

Adieu, my dearest sir. I hope, though I have Jiitherto neg- 
lected to mention it, that you have always remembered me to 
whoever has made any inquiry concerning me. 


EVELINA. 


139 


LETTER XXVL 
Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 


Howard Grove, April 27. 

O, MY dear sir, I now write in the greatest uneasiness. 
Madame Duval has made a proposal which terrifies me to death, 
and which was as unexpected as it is shocking. 

She had been employed for some hours this afternoon in read- 
ing letters from London : and, just about tea-time, she sent for 
me into her room, and said, with a look of great satisfaction, 
Come here, child ; I’ve got some very good news to tell you : 
something that will surprise you. I’ll give you my word, for you 
ha’ri’t no notion of it.” 

I begged her to explain herself; and then, in terms which I 
cannot repeat, she said she had been considering what a shame 
it was to see me such a poor country, shame-faced thing, when I 
ought to 'be a fine lady; and that she had long, and upon 
several occasions, blushed for me, though she must own the fault 
was none of mine ; for nothing better could be expected from a 
girl who had been so immured. However, she assured me she 
had at length hit upon a plan which would make quite another 
creature of me. 

I waited, without much impatience, to hear what this preface 
led to ; but I was soon awakened to more lively sensations, when 
she acquainted me that her intention was to prove my birthright, 
and to claim by law the inheritance of my real family ! 

It would be impossible for me to express my extreme conster- 
nation when she thus unfolded her scheme. My surprise and 
terror were equally great ; I could say nothing ; I heard her with 
a silence which I had* not the po v.-er to break. 

She then expatiated very warmly upon the advantages I 
should reap from her plan ; talked in a high style of my future 
grandeur; assured me how heartily I should despise almost 
everybody and every thing I had hitherto seen ; predicted my 


140 


EVELINA. 


marrying into some family of the first rank in the kingdom ; and 
finally said I should spend a few months in Paris, where my 
education and manners might receive their last polish. 

She enlarged also upon the delight she should have, in com- 
mon with myself, from mortifying the pride of certain people, 
and showing them that she was not to be slighted with im- 
punity. 

In the midst of this discourse I was relieved by a summons to 
tea. Madame Duval was in great spirits ; but my emotion was 
too painful for concealment, and everybody inquired into the 
cause. I would fain have waived the subject, but Madame 
Duval was determined to make it public. She told them that 
she had it in her head to make something of me, and that they 
should soon call me by another name than that of Anville; 
and yet that she was not going to have the child married 
neither. 

I could not endure to hear her proceed, and was going to 
leave the room ; which when Lady Howard perceived, she 
begged Madame Duval would defer her intelligence to some 
other opportunity: but she was so eager to communicate her 
scheme that she could bear no delay ; and therefore they suffered 
me to go without opposition. Indeed, whenever my situation or 
affairs are mentioned by Madame Duval, she speaks of them with 
such bluntness and severity, that I cannot be enjoined a task 
more cruel than to hear her. 

I was afterward acquainted with some particulars of the con- 
versation by Miss Mirvan ; who told me that Madame Duval 
informed them of her plan with the utmost complacency, and 
seemed to think herself very fortunate in having suggested it; but 
soon after, she accidentally betrayed that she had been instigated 
to the scheme by her relations the Branghtons, whose letters, 
which she received to-day, first mentioned the proposal. She 
declared that she would have nothing to do with any roundabout 
ways, but go openly and instantly to law, in order to prove my 
birth, real name, and title to the estate of my ancestors. 

How impertinent and officious in these Branghtons, to interfere 


EVELINA. 


141 


thus in my concerns ! You can hardly imagine what a disturb- 
ance this plan has made in the family. The captain, without in- 
quiring into any particulars of the affair, has peremptorily declared 
himself a'gainst it, merely because it has been proposed by Mad- 
ame Duval ; and they have battled the point together with great 
violence. Mrs. Mirvan says, she will not even ihinh till she hears 
your opinion. But Lady Howard, to my great surprise, openly 
avows her approbation of Madame Duval’s intention : however, 
she will write her reasons and sentiments upon the subject to 
you herself. 

As to Miss Mirvan, she is my second self, and neither hopes 
nor fears but as I do. And as to me, I know not what to say, 
nor even what to wish ; I have often thought my fate peculiarly 
cruel, to have but one parent, and from that one to be banished 
for ever ; while, on the other side, I have but too well known 
and felt the propi^ety of the separation. And yet, you may 
much better imagine than I can express the internal anguish 
which sometimes oppresses my heart when I reflect upon the 
strange indifference that must occasion a father never to make 
the least inquiry after the health, the welfare, or even the life of 
his child ! 

O, sir, to me the loss is nothing ! — greatly, sweetly, and most 
benevolently have you guarded me from feeling it ; but for him, 
I grieve indeed ! I must be divested, not merely of all filial piety, 
but of all humanity, could I ever think upon this subject and not 
be wounded to the soul. 

Again I must repeat, I know not what to wish : think for me, 
therefore, my dearest sir, and suffer my doubting mind, that 
knows not which way to direct its hopes, to be guided by your 
wisdom and unerring counsel. 


Evelina. 


142 


EVELINA. 


LETTER XXVII. 

Lady Howard to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 

Howard Groye. 

Dear Sir. 

I CANNOT give a greater proof of the high opinion I have 
of your candour, than by the liberty I am now going to take, of 
presuming to ofier you advice upon a subject concerning which 
you have so just a, claim to act for yourself: but I know you 
have too unaffected a love of justice to be partially tenacious of 
your own judgment. 

Madame Duval has been. proposing a scheme which has put us 
all in commotion, and against which, at first, in common with 
the rest of my family, I exclaimed : but, upon more mature con- 
sideration, I own my objections have almost wholly vanished. 

This scheme is no other than to commence a lawsuit with Sir 
John Belmont, to prove the validity of his marriage with Miss 
Evelyn ; the necessary consequence of which proof will be, se- 
iurino- his fortune and estate to his daughter. 

And why, my dear sir, should not this be ? I know that, upon 
first hearing, such a plan conveys ideas that must shock you ; 
but I know, too, that your mind is superior to being governed by 
prejudices, or to opposing any important cause on account of a 
few disagreeable attendant circumstances. 

Your lovely charge, now first entering into life, has merit 
which ought not to be buried in obscurity. She seems born for 
an ornament to the world. Nature has been bountiful to her of 
whatever she had to bestow ; and the peculiar attention you have 
given to her education has formed her mind to a degree of excel- 
lence that in one so young I have scarce ever seen equalled. 
Fortune alone has hitherto been sparing of her gifts : and she, 
too, now opens the way which leads to all that is left to wish for 
her. 

What your reasons may have been, my good sir, for so care- 
fully concealing the birth, name, and pretensions of this amiable 


EVELINA. 


148 


girl, and forbearing to make any claim upon Sir John Belmont, 
I am totally a stranger to ; but, without knowing, I respect them, 
from the high opinion that I have of your character and judg- 
ment ; but I hope they are not insuperable ; for I cannot but 
think that it was never designed for one who seems meant to 
grace the world to have her life devoted to retirement. 

Surely Sir John Belmont, wretch as he has shown himself, 
could never see his accomplished daughter and not be proud to 
own her, and eager to secure her the inheritance of his fortune. 
The admiration she met with in town, though merely the effect 
of her external attractions, was such, that Mrs. Mirvan assures 
me she would have had the most splendid offers, had there not 
seemed to be some mystery in regard to her birth, which she was 
well informed was assiduously, though vainly, endeavoured to be 
discovered. 

Can it be right, my dear sir, that this promising young creature 
should be deprived of the fortune and rank of life to which she 
is lawfully entitled, and which you have prepared her to support 
and to use so nobly ? To despise riches may, indeed, be philo- 
sophic ; but to dispense them worthily must surely be more 
beneficial to mankind. 

Perhaps a few years, or indeed a much shorter time, may 
make this scheme impracticable: Sir John, though yet young, 
leads a life too dissipated for long duration ; and when too late, 
we may regret that something was not sooner done ; for it will 
be next to impossible, after he is gone, to settle or prove any 
thing with his heirs and executors. 

Pardon the earnestness with which I write my sense of this 
affair ; but your charming ward has made me so warmly her 
friend, that I cannot be indifferent upon a subject of such im- 
portance to her future life. 

Adieu, my dear sir: send me speedily an answer to this remon- 
strance, and believe me to be, &c. 


M. Howard. 


144 : 


EVELINA. 


LETTER XXVIII. 

Mr. Villars to Lady Howard. 


Berry Hill, May 2. 

Your letter, madam, has opened a source of anxiety to which 
I look forward with dread, and which to see closed I scarcely dare 
expect. I am unwilling to oppose my opinion to that of your 
ladyship ; nor indeed can I, but by arguments which I believe 
will rather rank mo as a hermit, ignorant of the world, and fit 
only for my cell, than as a proper guardian, in an age such as 
this, for an accomplished young woman. Yet, thus called upon, 
it behoves me to explain, and endeavour to vindicate, the reasons 
by which I have been hitherto guided. 

The mother of this dear child, — who was led to destruction by 
her own imprudence, the hardness of heart of Madame Duval, 
and the villany of Sir John Belmont, — was once what her 
daughter is now, the best beloved of my heart : and her memory, 
so long as my own holds, I shall love, mourn, and honour ! On 
the fatal day that her gentle soul left its mansion, and not many 
hours ere she ceased to breathe, I solemnly plighted my faith 
that her child., if it lived, should know no father hut myself, or 
her acknowledged husband. 

You cannot, madam, suppose that I found much diflSculty in 
adhering to this promise, and forbearing to make any claim upon 
Sir John Belmont. Could I feel an affection the most paternal 
for this poor sufferer, and not abominate her destroyer ? Could 
I wish to deliver to him, who had so basely betrayed the mother, 
the helpless and innocent offspring, who, born in so much sorrow, 
seemed entitled to all the compassionate tenderness of pity ? 

For many years, the name alone of that man, accidentally 
spoken in my hearing, almost divested me of my Christianity, 
and scarce could I forbear to execrate him. Yet I sought not, 
neither did I desire, to deprive him of his child, had he with any 
appearance of contrition, or indeed of humanity, endeavoured to 


EVELINA. 


145 


become less unworthy such a blessing : but he is a stranger to all 
parental feelings, and has with a savage insensibility forborne to 
inquire even into existence of this sweet orphan, though the sit- 
uation of his injured wife was but too well known to him. 

You wish to be acquainted with my intentions. I must 
acknowledge they were such as I now perceive would not be 
honoured with your ladyship’s approbation ; for though I have 
sometimes thought of presenting Evelina to her father, and 
demanding the justice which is her due, yet, at other times, I 
have both disdained and feared the application : disdained, lest 
it should be refused ; and feared, lest it should be accepted ! 

Lady Belmont, who was firmly persuaded of her approaching 
dissolution, frequently and earnestly besought me, that if her 
infant was a female, I would not abandon her to the direction of 
a man so wholly unfit to take the charge of her education ; but, 
should she be importunately demanded, that I would retire with 
her abroad, and carefully conceal her from Sir John, till some 
apparent change in his sentiments and conduct should announce 
him less improper for such a trust. And often would she say, 
“ Should the poor babe have any feelings correspondent with its 
mother’s, it will have no want while under your protection.” 
Alas ! she had no sooner quitted it herself than she was plunged 
into a gulf of misery, that swallowed up her peace, reputation, 
and life, 

During the childhood of Evelina, I suggested a thousand plans 
for the security of her birthright ; but I as often rejected them. 
I was in a perpetual conflict, between the desire that she should 
have justice done her, and the apprehension that, while I im- 
proved her fortune, I should endanger her mind. However, as 
her character began to be formed, and her disposition to be dis- 
played, my perplexity abated ; the road before me seemed less 
thorny and intricate, and I thought I could perceive the right 
path from the wrong ; for when I observed the artless openness, 
the ingenuous simplicity of her nature ; when I saw that her 
guileless and innocent soul fancied all the world to be pure and 
disinterested as herself, and that her heart was open to every 

1 


146 


EVELINA. 


impression with which love, pity, or art might assail it; then did 
I flatter myself, that to follow my own inclination, and to secure 
her welfare, were the same thing ; since, to expose her to the 
snares and dangers inevitably encircling a house of which the 
master is dissipated and unprincipled, without the guidance of a 
mother, or any prudent and sensible female, seemed to me no 
less than suftering her to stumble into some dreadful pit, when 
the sun is in its meridian. My plan, therefore, was, not merely 
to educate and to cherish her as my own, but to adopt her the 
heiress of my small fortune, and to bestow her upon some wor- 
thy man, with whom she might spend her days in tranquillity, 
cheerfulness, and good-humour, untainted by vice, folly, or am- 
bition. 

So much for the time past. Such have been the motives by 
which I have been governed ; and I hope they will be allowed, 
not merely to account for, but also to justify, the conduct which 
has resulted from them. It now remains to speak of the time to 
come. 

And here, indeed, I am sensible of difficulties which I almost 
despair of surmounting according to my wishes. I pay the high- 
est deference to your ladyship’s opinion, which it is extremely 
painful to me not to concur with ; yet I am so well acquainted 
with your goodness, that I presume to hope it would not be abso- 
lutely impossible for me to ofier such arguments as might lead 
you to think, with me, that this young creature’s chance of hap- 
piness seems less doubtful in retirement than it would be in the 
gay and dissipated world. But why should I perplex your lady- 
ship with reasoning that can turn to so little account ? for, alas ! 
what arguments, what persuasions can I make use of, with any 
prospect of success, to such a woman as Madame Duval ? Her 
character and the violence of her disposition intimidate me from 
making the attempt ; she is too ignorant for instruction, too 
obstinate for entreaty, and too weak for reason. 

I will not, therefore, enter into a contest from which I have 
nothing to expect but altercation and impertinence. As soon 
would I discuss the effect of sound with the deaf, or the nature 


EVELINA. 


147 


of colours with the blind, as aim at illuminating with conviction 
a mind so warped by prejudice, so much the slave of unruly and 
illiberal passions. Unused as she is to control, persuasion would 
but harden, and opposition incense her. I yield, therefore to 
the necessity which compels my reluctant acquiescence ; and 
shall now turn all my thoughts upon considering of such methods 
for the conducting of this enterprise as may be most conducive 
to the happiness of my child, and least liable to wound her sen- 
sibility. 

The lawsuit, therefore, I wholly and absolutely disapprove. 

Will you, my dear madam, forgive the freedom of an old 
man, if I own myself greatly surprised, that you could, even for 
a moment, listen to a plan so violent, so public, so totally repug- 
nant to all female delicacy ? I am satisfied your ladyship has 
not weighed this project. There was a time, indeed, when to 
assert the innocence of Lady Belmont, and to blazon to the 
world the wrongs^ not guilty by which she suffered, I proposed, 
nay, attempted a similar plan ; but then all assistance and 
encouragement was denied. How cruel to the remembrance I 
bear of her woes is this tardy resentment of Madame Duval ! 
She was deaf to the voice of nature, though she has hearkened 
to that of ambition. 

Never can I consent to have this dear and timid girl brought 
forward to the notice of the world by such a method ; a method 
which will subject her to all the impertinence of curiosity, the 
sneers of conjecture, and the stings of ridicule. And for what? 
the attainment of wealth which she does not want, and the grati- 
fication of vanity which she does not feel. A child to appear 
against a father ! no, madam, old and infirm as I am, I would 
even yet sooner convey her myself to some remote part of the 
world, though I were sure of dying in the expedition. 

Far different had been the motives which would have stimu- 
lated her unhappy mother to such a proceeding : all her felicity 
in this world was iri'etrievably lost ; her life was become a bur- 
then to her; and her fair fame, which she had early been taught 
to prize above all other things, had received a mortal wound ; 


148 


EVELINA. 


therefore, to clear her own honour, and to secure from blemish 
the birth of her child, was all the good which fortune had 
reserved herself the power of bestowing. But even this last 
consolation was withheld from her ! 

Let milder measures be adopted ; and — since it must be so — 
let application be made to Sir John Belmont ; but as to a law- 
suit, I hope, upon this subject, never more to hear it mentioned. 

With Madame Duval, all pleas of delicacy would be ineffec- 
tual ; her scheme must be opposed by arguments better suited to 
her understanding. I will not, therefore, talk of its impropriety, 
but endeavour to prove its inutility. Have the goodness, then, 
to tell her, that her own intentions would be frustrated by her 
plan ; since, should the lawsuit be commenced, and even should 
the cause be gained. Sir John Belmont would still have it in his 
power, and, if irritated, no dohbt in his inclination, to cut oft* her 
granddaughter with a shilling. 

She cannot do better herself than to remain quiet and inactive 
in the affair: the long and mutual animosity between her and 
Sir John will make her interference merely productive of debates 
and ill will. Neither would I have Evelina appear till sum- 
moned. And as to myself, I must wholly decline acting : though 
I will, with unwearied zeal, devote all my thoughts to giving 
counsel : but, in truth, I have neither inclination nor spirits ade- 
quate to engaging personally with this man. 

My opinion is, that he would pay more respect to a letter 
from your ladyship upon this subject than from any other person. 
I therefore advise and hope, that you will yourself take the 
trouble of writing to him, in order to open the aftair. When he 
shall be inclined to see Evelina, I have for him a posthumous 
letter, which his much-injured lady left to be presented to him 
if ever such a meeting should take place. 

The views of the Branghtons in suggesting this scheme are 
obviously interested. They hope, by securing to Evelina the 
fortune of her father, to induce Madame Duval to settle her own 
upon themselves. In this, however, they would probably be mis- 
taken ; for little minds have ever a propensity to bestow their 


EVELINA. 


149 


wealth upon those who are already in affluence ; and, therefore, 
the less her grandchild requires her assistance, the more gladly 
she will give it. 

I have but one thing more to add, from which, however, I can 
by no means recede ; my word so solemnly given to Lady Bel- 
mont, that her child should never be owned but with herself, 
must be inviolably adhered to. 

I am, dear madam, with great respect. 

Your ladyship’s most obedient servant, 

Arthur Yillars. 


LETTER XXIX. 
Mr. Villars to Evelina. 


Berry Hill, May 2. 

How sincerely do I sympathize in the uneasiness and concern 
which my beloved Evelina has so much reason to feel ! The 
cruel scheme in agitation is equally repugnant to my judgment 
and my inclination ; yet to oppose it seems impracticable. To 
follow the dictates of my own heart, I should instantly recall you 
to myself, and never more consent to your being separated from 
me ; but the manners and opinion of the world demand a dif- 
ferent conduct. Hope, however, for the best, and be satisfied 
you shall meet with no indignity ; if you are not received into 
your own family as you ought to be, and with the distinction 
that is your due, you shall leave it for ever ; and once again 
restored to my protection, secure your own tranquillity, and 
make, as you have hitherto done, all the happiness of my life. 

Arthur Villars. 


150 


EVELINA. 


LETTER XXX. 

Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 

' Howard Grove, May 6. 

The die is thrown, and I attend the event in trembling ! Lady 
Howard has written to Paris, and sent her letter to town, to be 
forwarded in the Ambassador’s packet ; and in less than a fort- 
night, therefore, she expects an answer. O, sir, with what anx- 
ious impatience shall I wait its arrival ! upon it seems to depend 
the fate of my future life. My solicitude is so great and my sus- 
pense so painful, that I cannot rest a moment in peace, or turn 
my thoughts into any other channel. 

Deeply interested as I now am in the event, most sincerely do 
I regret that the plan was ever proposed. Methinks it cannot 
end to my satisfaction ; for either I must be torn from the arms 
of my more than father, orj must have the misery of being finally 
convinced that I am cruelly rejected by him who has the natural 
claim to that dear title ; a title which to write, mention or think 
of, fills my whole soul with filial tenderness. 

The subject is discussed here eternally. Captain Mirvan and 
Madame Duval, as usual, quarrel whenever it is started ; but I 
am so wholly engrossed by my own reflections that I cannot even 
listen to them. My imagination changes the scene perpetually ; 
one moment I am embraced by a kind and relenting parent, who 
takes me to that heart from which I have hitherto been banished, 
and supplicates through me peace and forgiveness from the ashes 
of my mother ! at another he regards me with detestation, con- 
siders me as the living image of an injured saint, and repulses 
me with horror ! But I will not afflict you with the melancholy 
phantasms of my brain ; I will endeavour to compose my mind 
to a more tranquil state, and forbear to write again till I have in 
some measure succeeded. 

May Heaven bless you, my dearest sir ! and long, long may it 
continue you on earth, to bless 

Your grateful Evelina. 


EVELINA. 


151 


LETTER XXXI. 

Lady Howard to Sir John Belmont, Bart, 

Howard Grove, May 5. 

Sir, 

You will doubtless be surprised at receiving a letter from 
one who had for so short a period the honour of your acquain- 
tance, and that at so great a distance of time ; but the motive 
which has induced me to take this liberty is of so delicate a na- 
ture, that were I to commence making apologies for my officious- 
ness, I fear ray letter would be too long for your patience. 

You have, probably, already conjectured the subject upon 
which I mean to treat. My regard for Mr. Evelyn and his 
araiablt! daughter was well known to you : nor can I ever cease 
to be interested in whatever belongs to their memory or family. 

1 must own myself somewhat distressed in what manner to 
introduce the purport of my writing ; yet as I think that, 
in affairs of this kind, frankness is the first requisite to a good 
understanding between the parties concerned, I will neither tor- 
ment you nor myself with punctilious ceremonies, but proceed 
instantly and openly to the business which occasions my giving 
you this trouble. 

I presume sir, it would be superfluous to tell you that your 
child resides still in Dorsetshire, and is still under the protection 
of the reverend Mr. Villars, in whose house she w'as born : for, 
though no inquiries concerning her have reached his ears or 
mine, I can never suppose it possible you have forborne to make 
them. It only remains, therefore, to tell you that your daughter 
is now grown up ; that she has been educated with the utmost 
care and the ' utmost success ; and that she is now a most 
deserving, accomplished, and amiable young woman. 

Whatever may be your view for her future destination in life, 
it seems time to declare it. She is greatly admired, and I doubt 
not will be very much sought after ; it is proper, therefore, that 


152 


EVELINA. 


her future expectations, and your pleasure concerning her, should 
he made known. 

Believe me, sir, she merits your utmost attention and regard. 
You could not see and know her and remain unmoved by those sen- 
sations of affection which belong to so near and tender a relation- 
ship. She is the lovely resemblance of her lovely mother ; pardon, 
sir, the liberty I take in mentioning that unfortunate lady ; but I 
think it behoves me, upon this occasion, to show the esteem I felt 
for her ; allow me therefore, to say, and be not offended at my 
freedom, that the memory of4hat excellent lady has but too long 
remained under the aspersions of calumny ; surely it is time to 
vindicate her fame : and how can that be done in a manner more 
eligible, more grateful to her friends, or more honourable to 
yourself, than by openly receiving as your child the daughter of 
the late Lady Belmont. 

The venerable man who has had the care of her education 
deserves your warmest acknowledgments for the unremitting pains 
he has taken and the attention he has shown in the discharge of 
his trust. Indeed she has been peculiarly fortunate in meeting 
with such a friend and guardian ; a more worthy man, or one 
whose character seems nearer to perfection, does not exist. 

Permit me to assure you, sir, she will amply repay whatever 
regard and favour you may hereafter show her, by the comfort 
and happiness you cannot fail to find in her affection and duty. 
To be owned properly by you is the first wish of her heart ; and 
I am sure that to merit your approbation will be the first study 
of her life. 

I fear that you will think this address impertinent ; but I must 
rest upon the goodness of my intention to plead my excuse. I 
am sir, 

Your most obedient, humble servant, 

M. Howard. 


EVELINA. 


153 


LETTER XXXIL 
Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 

Howard Grove, Kent, May 10. 

Our house has been enlivened to day by the arrival of a Lon- 
don visiter ; and the necessity I have been under of concealing 
the uneasiness of my mind, has made me exert myself so effec- 
tually, that I even think it is really dimished ; or at least my 
thoughts are not so totally, so very anxiously occupied by one 
only subject as they lately were. 

I was strolling this morning with Miss Mirvan down a lane 
about a mile from the Grove, when we heard the tramping of 
horses ; and fearing the narrowness of the passage, we were turn- 
ing hastily back, but stopped upon hearing a voice call out, 
“ Pray, ladies, don’t be frightened, for I will walk my horse.” 
We turned again, and then saw Sir Clement Willoughby. He 
dismounted ; and approaching us with the reins in his hand, pre- 
sently recollected us, “ Good Heaven !” cried he, with his usual 
quickness, “ T)o I see Miss Anville ? and you too. Miss Mirvan ?” 

He immediately ordered his servant to take charge of his 
horse ; and then, advancing to us, took a hand of each which he 
pressed to his lips, and said a thousand fine things concerning his 
good fortune, our improved looks, and the charms of the country 
when inhabited by such rural deities. “ The town, ladies, has 
languished since your absence ; or, at least, I have so much 
languished myself as to be absolutely insensible to all it had to 
offer. One refreshing breeze such as I now enjoy awakens me to 
new vigour, life, and spirit. But I never before had the good 
luck to see the country in such perfection.” 

“ Has not almost everybody left town, sir ?” said Miss Mir- 
van. 

“ I am ashamed to answer you madam ; but indeed it is as full 
as ever, and will continue so until after the birthday. However, 
you ladies were so little seen, that there are but few who know 

7 ^ 


EVELINA. 


154 

» 

what it has lost. For my own part, I felt it too sensibly to be 
able to endure the place any longer.” 

“ Is there anybody remaining there that we were acquainted 
with ?” cried I. 

“O yes, ma’am.” And then he named two or three persons 
we have seen when with him ; but he did not mention Lord Orville, 
and I would not ask him, lest he should think me curious. Per- 
haps, if he stays here some time, he may speak of him by ac- 
cident. 

He was proceeding in this complimentary style when we were 
met by the captain ; who no sooner perceived Sir Clement, than 
he hastened up to him, gave him a hearty shake of the hand, a 
cordial slap on the back, and some other equally gentle tokens 
of satisfaction, assuring him of his great joy at his visit, and de- 
claring he was as glad to see him as if he had been a messenger 
who brought news that a French ship was sunk. Sir Clement, 
on the other side, expressed himself with equal warmth ; and pro- 
tested he had been so eager to pay his respects to Captain Mir- 
van, that he had left London in its full lustre, and a thousand 
engagements unanswered, merely to give himself that plea- 
sure. 

“We shall have rare sport,” said the captain ; “ for do you 
know the old Frenchwoman is among us ! ‘ Fore George, I have 

scarce made any use of her yet, by reason I have had nobody 
with me that could enjoy a joke : howsomever, it shall go hard 
but we’ll have some diversion now.” 

Sir Clement very much approved of the proposal ; and we then 
went into the house, where he had a very grave reception from 
Mrs. Mirvan, who is by no means pleased with his visit, and a 
look of much discontent from Madame Duval, who said to me in 
a low voice, “ I’d as soon have seen Old Nick as that man, for he’s 
the most impertinentest person in the world, and isn’t never of 
my side.” 

The captain is now actually occupied in contriving some 
scheme, which, he says, is to play the old dowager off ; and so 
eager and delighted is he at the idea, that he can scarcely re- 


EVELINA. 


155 


strain his raptures sufficiently to conceal his design even from her- 
self. T wish, however, since I do not dare put Madame Duval 
upon her guard, that he had the delicacy not to acquaint me with 
his intention. 

/ 

LETTER XXXIII. 

Evelina in continuation. 


May 18. 

The captain’s operations are begun, — and, I hope, ended : for, 
indeed, poor Madame Duval has already but too much reason to 
regret Sir Clement’s visit to Howard Grove. 

Yesterday morning, during breakfast, as the captain was read- 
ing the newspaper, Sir Clement suddenly begged to look at it, 
saying he wanted to know if there was any account of a trans- 
action, at which he had been present the evening before his jour- 
ney hither, concerning a poor Frenchman, who had got into a 
scrape which might cost him his life. 

The captain demanded particulars ; and then Sir Clement told 
a long story of being with a party of country friends at the 
Tower, and hearing a man call out for mercy in French ; and that, 
when he inquired into the occasion of his distress, he was informed 
that he had been taken up upon suspicion of treasonable prac- 
tices against the government. “ The poor fellow,” continued he, 
“ no sooner found that I spoke French, than he besought me to 
hear him, protesting that he had no evil designs ; that he had 
been but a short time in England, and only waited the return of 
a lady from the country to quit it for ever.” 

Madame Duval changed colour, and listened with the utmost 
attention. 

“ Now, though I by no means approve of so many foreigners 
continually flocking into our country,” added he, addressing him- 
self to the captain, “ yet I could not help pitying the poor wretch^ 
because he did not know enough of English to make his defence ; 
however, I found it impossible to assist him ; for the mob would 


156 


EVELINA. 


not suffer me to interfere. In truth, I am afraid he was but 
roughly handled.” 

“ Why, did they duck him ?” said the captain. 

“ Something of that sort,” answered he. 

“ So much the better ! so much the better !” cried the captain ; 
“ an impudent French puppy ! I’ll bet you what you will he was 
a rascal. I only wish all his countrymen were served the 
same.” 

I wish you had been in his place, with all my soul !” cried 
Madame Duval, warmly : “ but pray sir didn’t nobody know who 
this poor gentleman was ?” 

“ Why, I did hear his name,” answered Sir Clement, “ but I 
cannot recollect it.” 

“ It wasn’t — it wasn’t — Du Bois ?” stammered out Madame 
Duval. 

“ The very name !” answered he : ‘‘ yes, Du Bois ; I remember 
it now.” 

Madame Duval’s cup fell from her hand as she repeated, “ Du 
Bois ! Monsieur Du Bois did you say ?” 

“Du Bois ! why, that’s my friend,” cried the captain ; “ that’s 
Monseer Slippery^ aint it? Why, he’s plaguy fond of sous- 
ing work ; howsomever. I’ll be sworn they gave him his fill of 
it.” 

“ And I’ll be sworn,” cried Madame Duval, “ that you’re a — 
but I don’t believe nothing about it, so you needn’t be so over- 
joyed, for I dare say it was no more Monsieur du Bois than I 
am.” 

“ I thought at the time,” Sir Clement, very gravely, “ that I 
had seen the gentleman before ! and now I recollect, I think it 
was in company with you, madam.” 

“ With wc, sir ?” cried Madame Duval. 

“ Say you so ?” said the captain ; “ why then it must be he, as 
sure as you’re alive ! — Well, but my good friend, what will they 
do with poor monseer P' 

“ It is difiicult to say,” answered Sir Clement, very thoughtfully ; 
“but I should suppose, that if he has not good friends to appear 


EVELINA. 


157 


for him, he will be in a very unpleasant situation ; for these are 
serious sort of affairs.” 

“ Why, do you think they’ll hang him ?” demanded the cap- 
tain. 

Sir Clement shook his head, hut made no answer. 

Madame Duval could no longer contain her agitation ; she 
started from her chair, repeating, with a voice half-choked, 
“ Hang him ! — they can’t — they sha’n’t — let them at their peril ! 
However, it’s all false, and I w'on’t believe a word of it ; — but I’ll 
go to town this very moment, and see M. du Bois myself ; — I 
won’t wait for nothing.” 

Mrs. Mirvan begged her not to be alarmed ; but she flew out 
of the room, and up stairs into her own apartment. Lady How- 
ard blamed both the gentlemen for having been so abrupt, and 
followed her. I would have accompanied her, but the captain 
stopped me ; and, having first laughed very heartily, said he was 
going to read his commission to his ship’s company. 

■ “ Now, do you see,” said he, “ as to Lady Howard, I sha’n’t 
pretend for to enlist her into my service, and so I shall e’en 
leave her to make it out as well as she can ; but as to all you, I 
expect obedience and submission to orders. I am now upon a 
hazardous expedition, having undertaken to convoy a crazy vessel 
to the shore of Mortification ; so, d’ye see, if any of you have 
any thing to propose that will forward the enterprise, — why speak 
and welcome ; but if any of you, that are of my chosen crew, 
capitulate, or enter into any treaty with the enemy, I shall look 
upon you as mutinying and turn you adrift.” 

Having finished this harangue, which was interlarded with 
many expressions and sea-phrases that I cannot recollect, 
he gave Sir Clement a wink of intelligence and left us to our- 
selves. 

Indeed, notwithstanding the attempts I so frequently make of 
writing some of the captain’s conversation, I can only give you 
a faint idea of his language ; for almost every other word he 
utters is accompanied by an oath, which, I am sure, would be as 
unpleasant for you to read as for me to write: and, besides he 


158 


EVELINA. 


makes use of a thousand sea-terms, which are to me quite unin- 
telligible. 

Poor Madame Duval sent to inquire at all probable places 
whether she could be conveyed to town in any stage-coach : but 
the captain’s servant brought her for answer, that no London stage 
would pass near Howard Grove till to-day. She then sent to order 
a chaise ; but was soon assured that no horses could be procured. 
She was so much inflamed by these disappointments, that she 
threatened to set out for town on foot ; and it was with diflficulty 
that Lady Howard dissuaded her from this mad scheme. 

The whole morning was filled up with these inquiries. But 
when we were all assembled to dinner, she endeavoured to appear 
perfectly unconcerned, and repeatedly protested that she gave not 
any credit to the report, as far as it regarded M. du Bois, being 
very certain that he was not the person in question. 

The captain used the most provoking efforts to convince her 
that she deceived herself ; while Sir Clement, with more art, 
though not less malice, affected to be of her opinion : but at the 
same time that he pretended to relieve her uneasiness, by saying 
that he doubted not having mistaken the name, he took care to 
enlarge upon the danger to which the unknown gentleman was 
exposed, and expressed great concern at his perilous situation. 

Dinner was hardly removed, when a letter was delivered to 
Madame Duval. The moment she had read it, she hastily 
demanded from whom it came. “ A country boy brought it,” 
answered the servant, “ but he would not wait.” 

“ Run after him this instant,” cried she, “ and be sure you bring 
him back. Mon Dieu ! quel aventure ! que ferai-je 

“ What’s the matter ? what’s the matter ?” said the captain. 

“ Why nothing — nothing’s the matter. 0 mon Dieu P' And 
she rose, and walked about the room. 

“ Why, what, — has monseer sent to you ?” continued the cap- 
tain : “ is that there letter from him ?” 

“ No, it ain’t ; — besides, if it is, it’s nothing to you.” 

“0 then. I’m sure it is! Pray now, madam, don’t be so 
close : come, tell us all about it : — what does he say ? how did 


EVELINA. 


159 


he relish the horsepond ? which did he find best, sousing single 
or double ? ’Fore George, ’twas plaguy unlucky you was not 
with him I” 

“ It’s no such a thing, sir !” cried she, very angrily ; and if 
you’re so very fond of a horsepond, I wish you’d put yourself 
into one, and not be always thinking about other people’s being 
served so.” 

The man then came in to acquaint her they could not over- 
take the boy. She scolded violently, and was in such perturba- 
tion that Lady Iloward interfered, and begged to know the cause 
of her uneasiness, and whether she could assist her. 

Madame Duval cast her eyes upon the captain and Sir 
Clement, and said she should be glad to speak to her ladyship, 
without so many witnesses. 

“ Well, then. Miss Anville,” said the captain, turning to me, 
“ do you and Molly go into another room, and stay there till 
Mrs. Duval has opened her mind to us.” 

“ So you may think, sir,” cried she, “ but who’s fool then ? 
No, no, you needn’t trouble yourself to make a ninny of me 
neither, for I’m not so easily taken in. I’ll assure you.” 

Lady Howard then invited her into the dressing-room, and I 
was desired to attend her. 

As soon as we had shut the door, “ 0, my lady,” exclaimed 
Madame Duval, “ here’s the most cruellest thing in the world 
has happened ! — but that captain is such a beast, I can’t say 
nothing before him, — but it’s all true! poor M. du Bois is 
tooked up !” 

Lady Howard begged her to be comforted, saying that, as 
M. du Bois was certainly innocent, there could be no doubt of 
his ability to clear himself. 

“ To be sure, my lady,” answered she, “ I know he is innocent ; 
and to be sure they’ll never be so wicked as to hang him for 
nothing !” 

“Certainly not,” replied Lady Howard ; “you have no reason 
to be uneasy. This is not a country where punishment is 
inflicted without proof.” 


160 


EVELINA. 


“ Very true, my lady ; but the worst thing is this ; I cannot 
bear that fellow the captain should know about it ; for if he 
does I sha’n’t never hear the last of it ; — no more won’t poor 
M. du Bois.” 

“ Wei], well,” said Lady Howard, “show me the letter, and I 
will endeavour to advise you.” 

The letter was then produced. It was signed by the clerk of 
a country justice ; who acquainted her, that a prisoner, then 
upon trial for suspicion of treasonable practices against the 
government, was just upon the point of being committed to jail ; 
but having declared that he was known to her, this clerk had 
been prevailed upon to write, in order to inquire if she really 
could speak to the character and family of a Frenchman who 
called himself Pierre du Bois. 

When I heard the letter, I was quite amazed at its success. 
So improbable did it seem that a foreigner should be taken 
before a country justice of peace for a crime of so dangerous a 
nature, that I cannot imagine how Madame Duval could be 
alarmed even for a moment. But, with all her violence of 
temper, I see that she is easily frightened, and in fact more 
cowardly than many who have not half her spirit ; and so little 
does she reflect upon circumstances or probability, that she is 
continually the dupe of her own — I ought not to say ignorance^ 
but yet I can think of no other word. 

I believe that Lady Howard, from the beginning of the trans- 
action, suspected some contrivance of the captain ; and this 
letter, I am sure, must confirm her suspicion: however, though 
she is not at all pleased with his frolic, yet she would not hazard 
the consequence of discovering his designs : her looks, her man- 
ner, and her character made me draw this conclusion from her 
apparent perplexity ; for not a word did she say that implied 
any doubt of the authenticity of the letter. Indeed, there seems 
to be a sort of tacit agreement between her and the captain, that 
she should not appear to be acquainted with his schemes ; by 
which means she at once avoids quarrels, and supports her 
dignity. 


I 


EVELINA. 161 

While she was considering what to propose, Madame Duval 
begged to have the use of her ladyship’s chariot, that she might 
go immediately to the assistance of her friend. Lady Howard 
politely assured her that it should be extremely at her service ; 
and then Madame Duval besought her not to own to the cap- 
tain what had happened, protesting that she could not endure he 
should know poor M. du Bois had met with so unfortunate an 
accident. Lady Howard could not help smiling, though she 
readily promised not to inform the captain of the affair. As to 
me, she desired my attendance ; which I was by no means 
rejoiced at, as I was certain that she was going upon a fruitless 
errand. 

I was then commissioned to order the chariot. 

At the foot of the stairs I met the captain, who was most 
impatiently waiting the result of the conference. In an instant 
we were joined by Sir Clement. A thousand inquiries were 
then made concerning Madame Duval’s opinion of the letter, and 
her intentions upon it : and when I would have left them, Sir 
Clement, pretending equal eagerness with the captain, caught 
my hand, and repeatedly detained me to ask some frivolous 
question, to the answer of which he must be totally indifferent. 
At length, however, I broke from them ; they retired into the 
parlour, and I executed my commission. 

The carriage was soon ready; and Madame Duval, having 
begged Lady Howard to say she was not well, stole softly down 
stairs, desiring me to follow her. The chariot was ordered at 
the garden-door ; and when we were seated, she told the man, 
according to the clerk’s directions, to drive to Mr. Justice 
Tyrell’s, asking at the same time, how many miles off he lived ? 

I expected he would have answered that he knew of no such 
person ; but to my great surprise, he said, “ Why, Squire Tyrell 
lives about nine miles beyond the park.” 

“ Drive fast, then,” cried she, “ and you sha’n’t be no worse 
for it.” 

During our ride, which was extremely tedious, she tormented 
herself with a thousand fears for M. du Bois’s safety ; and piqued 


162 


EVELINA. 


herself very much upon having escaped unseen by the captain, 
not only that she avoided his triumph, but because she knew 
him to be so much M. du Bois’s enemy, that she was sure he 
would prejudice the justice against him, and endeavour to take 
away his life. For my part, I was quite ashamed of being 
engaged in so ridiculous an affair, and could only think of the 
absurd appearance we should make upon our arrival at Mr. 
Tyrell’s. 

When we had been out near two hours, and expected every 
moment to stop at the place of our destination, I observed that 
Lady Howard’s servant, who attended us on horseback, rode on 
forward till he was out of sight : and soon after returning, came 
up to the chariot window, and delivering a note to Madame 
Duval, said he had met a boy who was just coming with it to 
Howard Grove, from the clerk of Mr. Tyrell. 

While she was reading it, he rode round to the other window, 
and making a sign for secrecy, put into my hand a slip of paper, 
on which was written, “ Whatever happens, be not alarmed — for 
you are safe — though you endanger all mankind !” 

I readily imagined that Sir Clement must be the author of 
this note, which prepared me to expect some disagreeable adven- 
ture : but I had no time to ponder upon it ; for Madame Duval 
had no sooner read her own letter, than in an angry tone of voice 
she exclaimed, “ Why, now what thing is this ! here we’re come 
all this way for nothing !” 

She then gave me the note, which informed her that she need 
not trouble herself to go to Mr. Tyrell’s, as the prisoner had had 
the address to escape. I congratulated her upon this fortunate 
incident ; but she was so much concerned at having rode so far 
in vain, that she seemed less pleased than provoked. However, 
she ordered the man to make what haste he could home, as she 
hoped, at least, to return before the captain should suspect what 
had passed. 

The carriage turned about ; and we journeyed so quietly for 
near an hour, that I began to flatter myself we should be suf- 
fered to proceed to Howard Grove without futher molestation. 


EVELINA. 


163 


when suddenly the footman called out, “John, are we going 
right ?” 

“ Why, I ain’t sure,” said the coachman, “but I’m afraid we 
turned wrong,” 

“ What do you mean by that, sirrah ?” said Madame Duval : 
“ why, if you lose your way, we shall be all in the dark.” 

“ I think we should turn to the left,” said the footman. 

“ To the left !” answered the other ; “ no, no. I’m partly sure 
we should turn to the right.” 

“You had better make some inquiry,” said I. 

“ Ma foi'' cried Madame Duval, “ we’re in a fine hole here ! 
— they neither of them know no more than the post. However, 
I’ll tell my lady as sure as you’re born, so you’d better find the 
way.” 

“ Let’s try this lane,” said the footman. 

“ No,” said the coachman, “ that’s the road to Canterbury ; we 
had best go straight on.” 

“ Why, that’s the direct London road,” returned the footman. 
“ and will lead us twenty miles about.” 

“ Pardi'' cried Madam Duval ; “ why they won’t go one way 
nor t’other ! and now we’re come all this jaunt for nothing, I 
suppose we sha’n’t get home to night !” 

“ Let’s go back to the public-house,” said the footman, “ and 
ask for a guide.” 

“ No, no,” said the other, “ if we stay here a few minutes, 
somebody or other will pass by ; and the horses are almost knock- 
ed up already.” 

“ Well, I protest,” cried Madame Duval, “ I’d give a guinea to 
see them sots both horsewhipped ! As sure as I’m alive they’re 
drunk ! Ten to one but they’ll overturn us next !” 

After much debating, they at length agreed to go on till we 
came to some inn, or met with a passenger who could direct us. 
We soon arrived at a farm-house, and the footman alighted and 
went into it. 

- In a few mtnutes he returned, and told us we might proceed, 
for that he had procured a direction. “ But,” added he, “ it 


164 


EVELINA. 


seems there are some thieves hereabouts ; and so the best way 
will be for you to leave your watches aud purses with the farmer, 
whom I know very well, and who is an honest man, and a ten- 
ant of my lady’s.” 

“ Thieves !” cried Madame Duval, looking aghast. “ The Lord 
help us ! I’ve no doubt but we shall be all murdered !” 

The farmer came up to us, and we gave him all we were 
worth, and the servants followed our example. 

We then proceeded ; and Madame Duval’s anger so entirely 
subsided, that in the mildest manner imaginable she entreated 
them to make haste, and promised to tell their lady how diligent 
and obliging they had been. She perpetually stopped them to 
ask if they apprehended any danger ; and was at length so much 
overpowered by her fears, that she made the footman fasten his 
horse to the back of the carriage, and then come and seat him- 
self within it. My endeavours to encourage her were fruitless ; 
she sat in the middle, held the man by the arm, and protested, 
that if he did but save her life, she would make his fortune. Her 
uneasiness gave me much concern, and it was with the utmost 
difficulty I forbore to acquaint her that she was imposed upon ; 
but the mutual fear of the captain’s resentment to me, and of her 
own to him, neither of which would have any moderation, de- 
terred me. As to the footman, he was evidently in torture from 
restraining his laughter ; and I observed that he was frequently 
obliged to make most horrid grimaces from pretended fear, in 
order to conceal his risibility. 

Very soon after, “The robbers are coming!” cried the coach- 
man. 

The footman opened the door, and jumped out of the 
chariot. 

Madame Duval gave a loud scream. 

I could no longer preserve my silence. “ For Heavens sake, 
my dear madam,” said I, “ don’t be alarmed, — you are in no dan- 
ger, — you are quite safe, there is nothing but ” 

Here the chariot was stopped by two men in masks ; who at 
each side put in their hands as if for our purses. Madame Du- 


EVELINA. 


165 


val sunk to the bottom of the chariot, and implored their mercy : 
I shrieked involuntarily, although prepared for the attack : one 
of them held me fast, while the other tore poor Madame Duval 
out of the carriage, in spite of her cries, threats, and resist- 
ance. 

I was really frightened, and trembled exceedingly. “ My angel !” 
cried the man who held me, “ you cannot surely be alarmed : — 
do you not know me ? — I shall hold myself in eternal abhor- 
rence if I have really terrified you.” 

“ Indeed, Sir Clement, you have,” cried I ; — “ But, for Heaven’s 
sake, where is Madame Duval ? — why is she forced away ?” 

“ She is perfectly safe ; the captain has her in charge : but 
suffer me now, my adored Miss Anville, to take the only oppor- 
tunity that is allowed me, to speak upon another, a much dearer, 
much sweeter subject.” 

And then he hastily came into the chariot, and seated himself 
next to me. I would fain have disengaged myself from him, but 
he would not let me ; deny me not, most charming of women,’’ 
cried he, “ deny me not this only moment that is lent me, to pour 
forth my soul into your gentle ears, — to tell you how much I 
suffer from your absence, — how much I dread your displeasure, 
— and how cruelly I am affected by your coldness.” 

“ O, sir, this is no time for such language ; — pray leave me ; 
pray go to the relief of Madame Duval ; — I cannot bear that she 
should be treated with such indignity.” 

“ And will you, can you command my absence ? — When may 
I speak to you, if not now ? — Does the captain suffer me to 
breath a moment out of his sight ? and are not a thousand im- 
pertinent people for ever at your elbow ?” 

“ Indeed, Sir Clement, you must change your style, or I will 
not hear you. The impertinent people you mean are among my 
best friends : and you would not, if you really wished me well, 
speak of them so disrespectfully.” 

“Wish you well ! O Miss Anville, point but out to me how, 
in what manner, I may convince you of the fervour of my pas- 
gion • — tell me but what service you will accept from me, — and 


166 


EVELINA. 


you shall find my life, my fortune, my whole soul at your devo 
tion ” 

“ I want nothing^ sir, that you can ofier ; — I beg you not to 
talk to me so — so strangely. Pray leave me ; and pray assure 
yourself, you cannot take any method so successless to show any 
regard for me as entering into schemes so frightful to Madame 
Duval, and so disagreeable to myself.” 

“ The scheme was the captain’s : I even opposed it ; though I 
own I could not refuse myself the so long-wished-for happiness of 
speaking to you once more, without so many of — jom friends to 
watch me. And I had flattered myself, that the note I charged 
the footman to give you would have prevented the alarm you 
have received.” 

“ Well, sir, you have now, I hope, said enough ; and if you 
will not go yourself to see for Madame Duval, at least suffer me 
to inquire what has become of her.” 

“ And when may I speak to you again ?” 

“No matter when, — I don’t know, — perhaps 

“ Perhaps what, my angel ?” 

“ Perhaps never ^ sir, if you torment me thus.” 

“ Never ! O, Miss Anville, how cruel, how piercing to my soul 
is that icy word ! — indeed, I cannot endure such displeasure.” 

“ Then, sir, you must not provoke it. Pray leave me di- 
rectly.” 

“ I will madam ; but let me, at least, make a merit of my 
obedience, — allow me to hope that you will, in future, be less 
averse to trusting yourself for a few moments alone with me.” 

I was surprised at the freedom of this request ; but while I 
hesitated how to answer it, the other mask came up to the 
chariot-door, and, in a voice almost stifled with laughter, said, 
“ I’ve done for her ! — the Old buck is safe : — but we must sheer 
off directly, or we shall be all aground.” 

Sir Clement instantly left me, mounted his horse, and rode off. 
The captain, having given some directions to the servants, fol- 
lowed him. 

I was both uneasy and impatient to know the fate of Madame 


EVELINA. 


167 


Duval, and immediately got out of the chariot to seek her. I 
desired the footman to show me which way she was gone : he 
pointed with his finger by way of answer, and I saw that he 
dared not trust his voice to make any other. I walked on at a 
very quick pace, and soon, to my great consternation, perceived 
the poor lady seated upright in a ditch. I flew to her with un- 
feigned concern at her situation. She was sobbing, nay, almost 
roaring, and in the utmost agony of rage and terror. As soon 
as she saw me she redoubled her cries; but her voice was so 
broken I could not understand a word she said. I was so much 
shocked that it was with difficulty I forbore exclaiming against 
the cruelty of the captain for thus wantonly ill-treating her ; and 
I could not forgive myself for having passively suffered the de- 
ception. I used my utmost endeavours to comfort her, assuring 
her of our present safety, and begging her to rise and return to 
the chariot. 

Almost bursting with passion, she pointed to her feet, and with 
frightful violence she actually tore the ground with her hands. 

“ I then saw that her feet were tied together with a strong 
rope, which was fastened to the upper bi’tinch of a tree, even 
with a hedge which ran along the ditch where she sat. I en- 
deavoured to untie the knot : but soon found it was infinitely be- 
yond my strength. 

I was therefore obliged to apply to the footman ; but being 
very unwilling to add to his mirth by the sight of Madame Du- 
val’s situation, I desired him to lend me a knife : I returned with 
it and cut the rope. Her feet were soon disentangled ; and then, 
though with great diflBculty, I assisted her to rise. But what 
was my astonishment, when, the moment she was up, she hit me 
a violent slap on the face ! I retreated from her with precipita- 
tion and dread ; and she then loaded me with reproaches, which, 
though almost unintelligible, convinced me that she imagined I 
had voluntarily deserted her ; but she seemed not to have the 
slightest suspicion that she had not been attacked by real rob- 
bers. 

I was so much surprised and confounded at the blow, that for 


168 


EVELINA. 


some time I suffered her to rave without making any answer ; 
but her extreme agitation and real suffering soon dispelled ray 
anger, which all turned into compassion. I then told her, that T 
had been forcibly detained from following her, and assured her of 
my real sorrow at her ill usage. 

She began to be somewhat appeased ; and I again entreated 
her to return to the carriage, or give me leave to order that it 
should draw up to the place where we stood. She made no 
answer, till I told her that the longer we remained still, the greater 
would be the danger of our ride home. Struck with this hint, 
she suddenly, and with hasty steps, moved forward. 

Her dress was in such disorder that I was quite sorry to have 
her figure exposed to the servants, who all of them, in imitation 
of their master, hold her in derision : — howe\'er, the disgrace was 
unavoidable. 

The ditch, happily, was almost quite dry, or she must have 
suffered still more seriously ; yet so forlorn, so miserable a figure 
I never before saw. Her headdress had fallen off, her linen was 
torn, her negligee had not a pin left in it, her petticoats she was 
obliged to hold on, and her shoes were perpetually slipping off. 
She was covered with dirt, weeds, and filth, and her face was 
really horrible ; for the pomatum and pow'ders from her head 
and the dust from the road were (\miQ pasted on her skin by her 
tears, which, with her rouge^ made so frightful a mixture that she 
hardly looked human. 

The servants were ready to die with laughter the moment they 
saw her ; but not all my remonstrances could prevail upon her 
to get into the carriage till she had most vehemently reproached 
them both for not rescuing her. The footman, fixing his eves on 
the ground, as if fearful of again trusting himself to look at her, 
protested that the robbers had vowed they would shoot him if he 
moved an inch, and that one of them had staid to watch the 
chariot while the other carried her off ; adding, that the reason 
of their behaving so barbarously was to revenge our having 
secured our purses. Notwithstanding her anger, she gave 
immediate credit to what he said ; and really imagined, that her 


EVELINA. 


169 


want of money had irritated the pretended robbers to treat her 
with such cruelty. I determined, therefore to be carefully upon 
my guard not to betray the imposition, which could now answer 
no other purpose than occasioning an irreparable breach between 
her and the captain. 

Just as we were seated in the chariot, she discovered the loss 
which her head had sustained, and called out, “ My God ! what is 
become of my hair? — why, the villain has stole all my curls!” 

She then ordered the man to run and see if he could find any 
of them in the ditch. He went, and presently returning, pro- 
duced a great quantity of hair in such a nasty condition that I 
was amazed she would take it ; and the man, as he delivered it 
to her, found it impossible to keep his countenance; which she 
no sooner observed, than all her stormy passions were again 
raised. She flung the battered curls in his face, saying, “ Sirrah, 
what ‘do you grin for ? I wish you’d been served so yourself, and 
you wouldn’t have found it no such joke : you are the impudent- 
est fellow ever I see ; and if I find you dare grin at me any more, 
I shall make no ceremony of boxing your ears.” 

Satisfied with the threat, the man hastily retired, and we drove 
on. 

Her anger now subsiding into grief, she began most sorrow- 
fully to lament her case. “ I believe,” she cried, “ never nobody 
was so unlucky as I am ! and so here, because I ha’n’t had misfor- 
tunes enough already, that puppy has made me lose my curls I — 
Why, I can’t see nobody without them : — only look at me, — I 
was never so bad off* in my life before. Pardi^ if I’d know’d as 
much, I’d have brought two or three sets with me ; but I’d never 
a thought of such a thing as this.” 

Finding her now somewhat pacified, I ventured to ask an 
account of her adventure, which I will endeavour to write in her 
own words. 

Why, child, all this misfortune comes of that puppy’s making 
us leave our money behind us ; for, as soon as the robber see I 
did put nothing in his hands, he lugged me out of the chariot by 
main force, and I verily thought he’d have murdered me. He 

8 


170 


EVELINA. 


was as strong as a lion ; 1 was no more in bis bands than a child. 
But I believe never nobody was so abused before ; for be dragged 
me down tbe road, pulling and hauling me all the way, as if I’d 
no more feeling than a horse. I’m sure I wish I could see that 
man cut up and quartered alive ! however, he’ll come to the gal- 
lows, that’s one good thing. So soon as we’d got out of sight of 
the chariot, though he needn’t have been afraid, for if he’d beat 
me to a mummy, those cowardly fellows wouldn’t have said no- 
thing to it. — So, when I was got there, what does he do, but all 
of a sudden he takes me by both the shoulders, and he gives me 
suc-h a shake ! — Mon Dieu ! I shall never forget it if I live to 
be a hundred. I’m sure I dare say I’m out of joint all over. And, 
though I made as much noise as ever I could, he took no more 
notice of it than nothing at all ; but there he stood, shaking me 
in that manner, as if he was doing it for a wager. I’m deter- 
mined, if it costs me all my fortune. I’ll see that villain hanged. 
He shall be found out, if there’s a justice in England. So when 
he had shook me till he was tired, and I felt all over like a jelly, 
without saying never a word, he takes and pops me into the ditch ! 
I’m sure I thought he’d have murdered me as much as ever I 
thought any thing in my life ; for he kept bumping me about as 
if he thought nothing too bad for me. However, I’m resolved 
I’ll never leave my purse behind me again, the longest day I have 
to live. So when he couldn’t stand over me no longer, he holds 
out his hands again for my money ; but he was as cunning as 
could be, for he wouldn’t speak a word, because I shouldn’t 
swear to his voice : however, that sha’n’t save him, for I’ll swear 
to him any day in the year, if I can but catch him. So when I 
told him I had no money, he fell to jerking me again, just as if 
he had but that moment begun ! And after that, he got me close 
by a tree, and out of his pocket he pulls a great cord ! — It’s a 
wonder I did not swoon away ; for as sure as you are alive he was 
going to hang me to that tree. I screamed like any thing mad, 
and told him if he would but spare my life I’d never prosecute 
him, nor tell nobody what he’d done to me ; so he stood some 
time quite in a brown study, a thinking what he should do. And 


EVELINA. 


171 


SO after that, he forced me to sit down in the ditch, and he tied 
my feet together, just as you see them ; and then, as if he had not 
done enough, he twiched ofl* my cap, and, without saying no- 
thing, got on his horse and left me in that condition ; thinking, I 
suppose, that I might lie there and perish.” 

Though this narrative almost compelled me to laugh, yet I 
was really irritated with the captain, for carrying his love of tor- 
menting , — sporty he calls it, — to such barbarous and unjustifiable 
extremes. I consoled and soothed her as well as I was able ; and 
told her, that since M. du Bois had escaped, I hoped when she 
recovered from her fright all would end w'ell. 

“Fright, child !” repeated she, “ why that’s not half ; — I pro- 
mise you, I wish it was ; but here I’m bruised from top to toe, 
and it’s well if ever I have the right use of my limbs again. 
However, I’m glad the villain got nothing but his trouble for his 
pains. But here the worst is to come, for I can’t go out, because 
I’ve got no curls, and so he’ll be escaped before I can get to the 
justice to stop him. I’m resolved I’ll tell the Lady Howard how 
her man served me; for if he hadn’t made me fling ’em away, I 
dare say I could have pinned them up well enough for the 
country.” 

“ Perhaps Lady Howard may be able to lend you a cap that 
will wear without them.” 

“ Lady Howard, indeed ! why, do you think I’d wear one of 
her dowdies? No Til promise, you, I sha’n’t-put on no such 
disguisement. It’s the unluckiest thing in the world that I did 
not make the man pick up the curls again ; but he put me in 
such a passion, I could not think of nothing. I know I can’t 
get none at Howard Grove for love nor money ; for of all the 
stupid places ever I see, that Howard Grove is the worst ; there’s 
never no getting nothing one wants.” 

This sort of conversation lasted till we arrived at our journey’s 
end; and then a new distress occurred; Madame Duval was 
eager to speak to Lady Howard and Mrs. Mirvan, and to relate 
her misfortunes; but she could not endure that Sir Clement or 
the captain should see her in such disorder ; for she said they 


172 


EVELINA. 


were so ill-natured, that, instead of pitying her, they would only 
make a jest of her disasters. She therefore sent me first into the 
house, to wait for an opportunity of their being out of the way 
that she might steal up stairs unobserved. In this I succeeded, 
as the gentleman thought it most prudent not to seem watching 
for her ; though they both contrived to divert themselves with 
peeping at her as she passed. 

She went immediately to bed, where she had her supper. Lady 
Howard and Mrs. Mirvan both of them very kindly sat with her 
and listened to her tale with compassionate attention ; while Miss 
Mirvan and I retired to our own room, where I was very glad 
to end the troubles of the day in a comfortable conversation. 

The captain’s raptures, during supper, at the success of his 
plan were boundless. I spoke afterward to Mrs. Mirvan with the 
openness which her kindness encourages, and begged her to 
remonstrate with him upon the cruelty of tormenting Madame 
Duval so causelessly. She promised to take the first opportunity 
of starting the subject ; but said he was at present so much elated, 
that he would not listen to her with any patience. However, 
should he make any new efibrts to molest her, I can by no means 
consent to be passive. Had I imagined he would have been so 
violent, I would have risked his anger in her defence much 
sooner. 

She has kept her bed all day, and declares she is almost 
bruised to death. 

Adieu, my dear sir. What a long letter have I written ! I 
could almost fancy I sent it you from London ! 


LETTER XXXIV. 

Evelina in continuation. 

Howard Grove, May 15. 

This insatiable captain, if left to himself, would not, I believe, 
rest till he had tormented Madame Duval into a fever. He 
seems to have no delight but in terry fying or provoking her ; 


EVELINA. 


173 


and all his thoughts apparently turn upon inventing such methods 
as may do it most effectually. 

She had her breakfast again in bed yesterday morning ; but 
during ours, the captain, witli a very significant look at Sir Cle- 
ment, gave us to understand that he thought she had now rested 
long enough to bear the hardships of a fresh campaign. 

His meaning was obvious ; and, therefore, I resolved to endea- 
vour immediately to put a stop to his intended exploits. When 
breakfast was over, I followed Mrs. Mirvan out of the parlour, 
and begged her to lose no time in pleading the cause of Madame 
Duval with the captain. “ My love,’^ answered she, “ I have 
already expostulated with him ; but all I can say is fruitless, 
while his favourite Sir Clement contrives to urge him on.” 

“ Then I will go and speak to Sir Clement,” said I, “ for I know 
he will desist if I request him.” 

“ Have a care, my dear !” she said smiling ; “ it is sometimes 
dangerous to make requests to men who are too desirous of re- 
ceiving them.” 

“ Well, then, my dear madam, will you give me leave to speak 
myself to the captain ?” 

“ Willingly ; nay, I will accompany you to him.” 

I thanked her, and we went to seek him. He was walking 
in the garden with Sir Clement. Mrs. Mirvan most obligingly 
made an opening for my purpose, by saying, “ Mr. Mirvan, I 
have brought a petitioner with me.” 

“ W^'hy, what’s the matter now ?” cried he. 

I was fearful of making him angry, and stammered very much 
when I told him I hoped he had no new plan for alarming 
Madame Duval. 

“ New plan !” cried he ; “ wh)^ you don’t suppose the old one 
would do again, do you ? Not but what it was a very good one, 
only I doubt she wouldn’t bite.” 

“ Indeed sir,” said T, “ she has already sufiered too much ; and I 
hope you will pardon me if I take the liberty of telling you that 
I think it my duty to do all in my power to prevent her being 
again so much terrified.” 


174 


EVELINA. 


A sullen gloominess instantly clouded his face, and turning 
short from me,’he said I might do as I pleased, but that I should 
much sooner repent than repair my officiousness. 

I was too much disconcerted at this rebuff to attempt making 
any answer ; and finding that Sir Clement warmly espoused my 
cause, I walked away, and left them to discuss the point to- 
gether. 

Mrs. Mirvan, who never speaks to the captain when he is out 
of humour, was glad to follow me, and with her usual sweetness 
made a thousand apologies for her husband’s ill manners. 

When I left her, I went to Madame Duval, who was just risen 
and employed in examining the clothes she had on the day of 
her ill-usage. 

“ Here’s a sight,” cried she. “ Come here, child — only look 
— Pardi^ so long as I’ve lived I never see so much before ! 
Why, all my things are spoiled ; and what’s worse, my sacque was 
as good as new. Here’s the second negligd I’ve had used in this 
manner ! — I’m sure I was a fool to put it on in such a lonesome 
place as this ; however, if I stay here these ten years. I’ll never 
put on another good gown, that I’m resolved.” 

“ Will you let the maid try if she can iron it out, or clean it, 
ma’am ?” 

“ No, she’ll only make bad worse. But look here, now here’s 
a cloak ! Mon Dieu^ why it looks like a dish-clout ! Of all 
the unluckiness that ever I met, this is the worst ! for do you 
know I bought it but the day I left Paris ? — Besides, into the 
bargain, my cap’s quite gone; where the villain twitched it I 
don’t know ; but I never see no more of it from that time to 
this. Now you must know that was the becomingest cap, I had 
in the world, for I’ve never another with pink riband in it, and to 
tell you the truth, if I hadn’t thought to have seen M. du Bois, 
I’d no more have put it on than I’d have flown ; for as to what 
one wears in such a stupid place as this, it signifies no more than 
nothing at all.” 

She then told me she had been thinking all night of a contri- 
vance to hinder the captain from finding out her loss of curls ; 


EVELINA. 


175 


which was, having a large gauze handkerchief pinned over her 
head as a hood, and saying she had the toothache. 

“ To tell you the truth,” added she, ‘‘ I believe that captain is 
one of the worst men in the world ; he’s always inaking a joke 
of me ; and as to his being a gentleman, he has no more manners 
than a bear, for he’s always upon the grin when one’s in distress : 
and, I declare I’d rather be done anything to than laughed at, 
for, to my mind, it’s one or other the disagreeablest thing in the 
world.” 

Mrs. Mirvan, I found, had been endeavouring to dissuade her 
from the design she had formed of having recourse to the law, in 
order to find out the supposed robbers; for she dreads a discov- 
ery of the captain, during Madame Duval’s stay at Howard Grove, 
as it could not fail being productive of infinite commotion. She 
has, therefore, taken great pains to show the inutility of apply- 
ing to justice, unless she were more able to describe the offenders 
against whom she would appear ; and has assured her, that as 
she neither heard their voices, nor saw their faces, she cannot 
possibly swear to their persons, or obtain any redress. 

Madame Duval, in telling me this, extremely lamented her hard 
fate, that she was thus prevented from revenging her injuries; 
which, however, she vowed she would not be persuaded to pocket 
tamely “ because,” added she, “ if such villains as these are let to 
have their own way, and nobody takes no notice of their impu- 
dence, they’ll make no more ado than nothing at all of tying peo- 
ple in ditches, and such things as that : however, I shall consult 
with M. du Bois, as soon as I can ferret out where he’s hid him- 
self. I’m sure I’ve a right to his advice, for it’s all along of his 
gaping about at the Tower that I’ve met with these misfor- 
tunes.” 

“M. du Bois,” said T, “ will, I am sure, be very sorry when he 
hears what has happened.” 

“ And what good will that do now ?— that won’t unspoil all 
my clothes ; I can tell him I ain’t much obliged to him, though 
it’s no fault of his ; yet it ain’t the less provokinger for that. I’m 
sure if he had been there, to have seen me served in that manner, 


176 


EVELINA. 


and put neck and heels into a ditch, he’d no more have thought 
it was me than the Pope of Eome. I’ll promise you whatever 
you may think of it, I sha’n’t have no rest night or day till I find 
out that rogue.” 

“ I have no doubt, madam, but you will soon discover 
him.” 

“ Pardi, if I do. I’ll hang him, as sure as fate ! — But what’s the 
oddest, is that he should take such a special spite against me 
above all the rest ! it was as much for nothing as could be ; for I 
don’t know what I had done so particular bad to be used in that 
manner : I’m sure I hadn’t given him no ofience, as I know of, 
for I never see his face all the time, and as to screaming a little, 
I think it’s very hard if one mustn’t do such a thing as that, 
when one’s put in fear of one’s life.” 

During this conversation, she endeavoured to adjust her head- 
dress, but could not at all please herself. Indeed, had I not 
been present, I should have thought it impossible for a woman 
at her time of life to be so very difficult in regard to dress. 
What she may have in view I cannot imagine ; but the labour 
of the toilet seems the chief business of her life. 

When I left her, in my way down stairs I met Sir Clement ; 
who with great earnestness said he must not be denied the hon- 
our of a moment’s conversation with me ; and then without 
waiting for an answer he led me to the garden ; at the door of 
which I absolutely insisted upon stopping. 

He seemed very serious, and said, in a grave tone of voice, 
“ At length, Miss Anville, I flatter myself I have hit upon an ex- 
pedient that will oblige you ; and therefore though it is death to 
myself, I will put it in practice.” 

I begged him to explain himself. 

“I saw your desire of saving Madame Duval, and scarce could 
I refrain giving the brutal captain my real opinion of his savage 
conduct ; but I am unwilling to quarrel with him, lest I should 
be denied entrance into a house which you inhabit : I have been 
endeavouring to prevail with him to give up his absurd new 
scheme, but I find him inpenetrable : — I have therefore deter- 


EVELINA. 


177 


mined to make a pretence for suddenly leaving this place, dear 
as it is to me, and containing all I most admire and adore ; and 
I will stay in town till the violence of this boobyish humour is 
abated.” 

He stopped ; but I was silent, for I knew not what I ought to 
say. He took my hand, which he pressed to his lips, saying, 
“ And must I then. Miss Anville, must I quit you — sacrifice 
voluntarily my greatest felicity ; and yet not be honoured with 
one word, one look of approbation ?” 

I withdrew my hand, and said, with a half-laugh, “ You know 
so well. Sir Clement, the value of the favours you confer, that it 
would be superfluous for me to point it out.” 

“ Charming, charming girl ! how does your wit, your under- 
standing rise upon me daily ! and must I, can I part with you ? 
— will no other method ” 

“ O, sir, do you so soon repent the good oflSce you had 
planned for Madame Duval ?” 

“ For Madame Duval ! — cruel creature, and will you not even 
suffer me to place to your account the sacrifice I am about to make ?” 

“ You must place it, sir, to what account you please ; but I 
am too much in haste now to stay here any longer.” 

And then I would have left him, but he held me, and rather 
impatiently said, “ if, then, I cannot be so happy as to oblige 
yow. Miss Anville, you must not be surprised should I seek to 
oblige myself. If my scheme is not honoured with your appro- 
bation, for which alone it was formed, why should I, to my own 
infinite dissatisfaction, pursue it ?” 

We were then, for a few minutes, both silent ; I was really 
unwilling he "should give up a plan which would so effectually 
break into the captain’s designs, and, at the same time, save me 
the pain of disobliging him ; and I should instantly and thank- 
fully have accepted his offered civility, had not Mrs. Mirvan’s 
caution made me fearful. However, when he pressed me, T said, 
in an ironical voice, “ I had thought, sir, that the very strong 
sense you have yourself of the favor you propose to me would 
suflSciently have repaid you ; but, as I was mistaken, I must 

8 * 


1Y8 


EVELINA. 


thank you myself. And now (making a low courtesy), I hope, 
sir, you are satisfied.” 

“ Loveliest of thy sex ” he began ; but I forced myself from 

him, and ran up stairs. 

Soon after, Miss Mirvan told me that Sir Clement had just 
received a letter, which obliged him instantly to leave the Grove, 
and that he had actually ordered a chaise. I then acquainted 
her with the real state of the affair. Indeed, I conceal nothing 
from her ; she is so gentle and sweet-tempered, that it gives me 
great pleasure to place an entire confidence in her. 

At dinner, I must own, we all missed him ; for though the 
flightiness of his behaviour to me, when we are by ourselves, is 
very distressing, yet, in large companies, and general conversa- 
tion,* he is extremely entertaining and agreeable. As to the 
captain, he has been so much chagrined at his departure, that 
he has scarce spoken a word since he went ; but Madame Duval, 
who made her first public appearance since her accident, was 
quite in raptures that she escaped seeing him. 

The money which we left at the farm-house has been returned 
to us. What pains the captain must have taken to arrange and 
manage the adventures which he chose we should meet with ! 
Yet he must certainly be discovered ; for Madame Duval is 
already very much perplexed at having received a letter this 
morning from M. du Bois, in which he makes no mention of his 
imprisonment. Ilowever, she has so little suspicion, that she 
imputes his silence upon the subject to his fears that the letter 
might be intercepted. 

Not one opportunity could I meet with while Sir Clement 
was here to inquire after his friend Lord Orville ; but I think it 
was strange he should never mention him unasked. Indeed, I 
rather wonder that Mrs. Mirvan herself did not introduce the 
subject, for she always seemed particularly attentive to him. 

And now, once more, all my thoughts involuntarily turn upon 
the letter I so soon expect from Paris. This visit of Sir Clement 
has, however, somewhat diverted my fears ; and, therefore, I am 
very glad he made it at this time. Adieu, my dear sir. 


EVELINA. 


ITO 


LETTER XXXV. 

Sir John Belmont to Lady Howard. 

Paris, May 11. 

Madam, 

I HAVE this moment the honour of your ladyship’s letter, 
and I will not wait another before I return an answer. 

It seldom happens that a man, though extolled as a saint, is 
really without blemish; or that. another, though reviled as a 
devil, is really without humanity. Perhaps the time is not very 
distant when I may have the honour to convince your ladyship 
of this truth, in regard to Mr. Villars and myself. 

As to the young lady whom Mr. Villars so obligingly proposes 
presenting to me, I wish her all the happiness to which, by’your 
ladyship’s account, she seems entitled ; and, if she has the third 
part of the merit of her to whom you compare her, I doubt not 
but Mr. Villars will be more successful in every other application 
he may make for her advantage, than he can ever be in any 
with which he may be pleased to favor me. 

I have the honour to be, madam. 

Your ladyship’s most humble 

and most obedient servant. 

John Belmont. 


LETTER XXXVI. 

Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 

Howard Grove, May 18. 

Well, my dear sir, all is now over ! the letter so anxiously 
expected is at length arrived, and my doom is fixed. The 
various feelings which oppress me I have not language to 
describe ; nor need I— you know my heart, you have yourself 
formed it — and its sensations upon this occasion you may but 
too readily imagine. 


180 


EVELINA. 


Outcast as I am, and rejected for ever by him to whom I of 
right belong — shall I now implore your continued protection ? — 
No, no, ; — I will not offend your generous heart, which, open to 
distress, has no wish but to relieve it, with an application that 
would seem to imply a doubt. I am more secure than ever of 
your kindness, since you now know upon that is my sole depend- 
ence. 

I endeavour to bear this stroke with composure, and in such 
a manner as if I had already received your counsel and consola- 
tion. Yet, at times, my emotions are almost too much for me. 
O, sir, what a letter for a parent to WTite ! Must I not myself 
be deaf to the voice of nature, if I could endure to be thus abso- 
lutely abandoned without regret ? I dare not even to you, nor 
would I, could I help it, to myself, acknowledge all that I think : 
for indeed, I have sometimes sentiments upon this rejection, which 
my strongest sense of duty can scarcely correct. Yet, suffer me 
to ask — might not this answer have been softened ? — was it not 
enough to disclaim me, for ever, without treating me with con- 
tempt and wounding me with derision ? 

But while I am thus thinking of myself, I forget how much 
more he is the object of sorrow than I am ! Alas, what amends 
can he make himself for the anguish he is hoarding up for time 
to come ! My heart bleeds for him whenever this reflection 
occurs to me. 

What is said of yow, my protector, my friend, my benefactor ! 
I dare not trust myself to comment upon. Gracious Heaven ! 
what a return for goodness so unparalleled ! 

I would fain endeavour to divert my thoughts from this sub- 
ject : but even that is not in my power ; for, afflicting as this 
letter is to me, I find that it will not be allowed to conclude the 
affair, though it does all my expectations, for Madame Duval has 
determined not to let it rest here. She heard the letter in great 
wrath, and protested she would not be so easily answered ; she 
regretted her facility in having been prevailed upon to yield the 
direction of this affair to those who knew not how to manage it, 
and vowed she would herself undertake and conduct it in future. 


EVELINA. 


181 


It is in vain that I have pleaded against her resolution, and 
besought her to forbear an attack where she has nothing to 
expect but resentment : especially as there seems to be a hint, 
that Lady Howard will one day be more openly dealt with. She 
will not hear me : she is furiously bent upon a project which is 
terrible to think of ; — for she means to go herself to Paris, take 
me with her, and there, /ace to face, demand justice ! 

How to appease or to persuade her I know not ; but for the 
universe would I not be dragged, in such a manner, to an inter- 
view so awful, with a parent I have never yet beheld ! 

Lady Howard and Mrs. Mirvan are both of them infinitely 
shocked at the present situation of affairs, and they seem to be 
even more kind to me than ever ; and ray dear Maria, who is the 
friend #f my heart, uses her utmost efibrts to console me ; and 
when she fails in her design, with still greater kindness she sym- 
pathizes in my sorrow. 

I very much rejoice, however, that Sir Clement Willoughby 
had left us before this lettter arrived. I am sure the general 
confusion of the house would otherwise have betrayed to him 
the whole of the tale which I now, more than ever, wish to have 
buried in oblivion. 

Lady How'ard thinks I ought not to disoblige Madame Duval, 
yet she acknowledges the impropriety of my accompanying her 
abroad upon such an enterprise. Indeed, I would rather die 
than force myself into his presence. But so vehement is Mad- 
ame Duval, that she would instantly have compelled me to attend 
her to town in her way to Paris, had not Lady Howard so far 
exerted herself as to declare she coyld by no means consent to 
my quitting her house till she gave me up to you, by whose per- 
mission I had entered it. 

She was extremely angry at this denial ; and the captain by 
his sneers and raillery, so much increased her rage, that she has 
positively declared, should your next letter dispute her authority 
to guide me by her own pleasure, she will, without hesitation, 
make a journey to Berry Hill, and teach you to know who 


182 


EVELINA. 


Should she put this threat in execution, nothing could give me 
greater uneasiness, for her violence and volubility would almost 
distract you. 

Unable as I am to act for myself, or to judge what conduct I 
ought to pursue, how grateful do I. feel myself that I have such 
a guide and director to counsel and instruct me as yourself! 

Adieu, my dearest sir ! Heaven, I trust, will never let me 
live to be repulsed and derided by you to whom I may now sign 
myself wholly your 

Evelina. 


LETTER XXXVII. 

Mr. Villars to Evelina. ^ 

Berry Hill, May 21. 

Let not my Evelina be depressed by a stroke of fortune for 
which she is not responsible. No breach of duty on your part 
has incurred the unkindness which has been shown you; nor 
have you, by any act of imprudence, provoked either censure or 
reproach. Let me entreat you, therefore, my dearest child, to 
support yourself with that courage which your innocency ought 
to inspire ; and let all the affliction you allow yourself be for him 
only who, not having that support, must one day be but too 
severely sensible how much he wants it. 

The hint thrown out concerning myself is wholly unintelligN 
ble to me ; my heart, I dare own, fully acquits me of vice ; but 
without blemish I have never ventured to pronounce myself. 
However, it seems his intension to be hereafter more explicit ; 
and then., should any thing appear that has on my part contribu- 
ted to those misfortunes we lament, let me at least say, that the 
most partial of my friends cannot be so much astonished as. I 
shall myself be at such a discovery. 

The mention also of any future applications I may make is 
equally beyond my comprehension. But I will not dwell upon a 
subject which almost, compels from me reflections that cannot but 
be wounding to a heart so formed for filial tenderness as my Eve- 


EVELINA. 


183 


lina’s. There is an air of mystery throughout the letter, the 
explanation of which I will await in silence. 

The scheme of Madame Duval is such as might be reasonably 
expected from a woman so little inured to disappointment, and 
so totally incapable of considering the delicacy of your situation. 
Your averseness to her plan gives me pleasure, for it exactly cor- 
responds with my own. Why will she not make the journey she 
projects by herself? She would not have even the wish of an 
opposition to encounter. And then, once more, might my child 
and myself be left to the quiet enjoyment of that peaceful happi- 
ness which she alone has interrupted. As to her coming hither, 
I could, indeed, dispense with such a visit; but if she 'will not 
be satisfied with my refusal by letter, I must submit to the task 
of giving it her in person. 

My impatience for your return is increased by your account 
of Sir Clement Willoughby’s visit to Howard Grove. I am but 
little surprised at the perseverance of his assiduities to interest 
you in his favour; but I am very much hurt that you should be 
exposed to addresses which, by their privacy, have an air that 
shocks me. You cannot, my love, be too circumspect ; the 
slightest carelessness on your part will be taken advantage of by 
a man of his disposition. It is not suflicient for you to be 
reserved : his conduct even calls for your resentment ; and should 
he again, as will doubtless be his endeavour,, contrive to solicit 
your favour in private, let your disdain and displeasure be so 
marked as to constrain a change in his behaviour. Though, 
indeed, should his visit be repeated while you remain at the 
Grove, Lady Howard must pardon me if I shorten yours. 

Adieu, my child. You will always make my respects to the 
hospitable family to which we are so much obliged. 


184 


EVELINA. 


LETTER XXXYIII. 

Mr. Villars to Lady Howard. 


Berry Hill, May 27. 

Dear madam, 

I BELIEVE your ladyship will not be surprised at hearing 
I have had a visit from Madame Duval, as I doubt not her hav- 
ing made known her intention before she left Howard Grove. I 
would gladly have excused myself this meeting, could J have 
avoided it decently ; but, after so long a journey, it was not pos- 
sible to refuse her admittance. 

She told me that she came to Berry Hill in consequence of a 
letter I had sent to her granddaughter, in which I had forbid her 
going to Paris. Very roughly, she then called me to account 
for the authority which I had assumed ; and had I been disposed 
to have argued with her, she would very angrily have disputed 
the right by which I used it. But I declined all debating. I 
therefore listened very quietly till she had so much fatigued her- 
self with talking that she was glad in her turn to be silent. And 
then I begged to know the purport of her visit. 

She answered, that she came to make me relinquish the power 
[ had usurped over her granddaughter; and assured me she 
would not quit the place till she succeeded. 

But I will not trouble your ladyship with the particulars of 
this disagreeable conversation ; nor should I, but on account of 
the result, have chosen so unpleasant a subject for your perusal. 
However. I will be as concise as I possibly can, that the better 
occupations of your ladyship’s time may be less impeded. 

When she found me inexorable in refusing Evelina’s attending 
her to Paris, she peremptorily insisted that she should at least 
live with her in London till Sir John Belmont’s return. I 
remonstrated against this scheme with all the energy in my 
power : but the contest was vain ; she lost her patience, and I my 
time. She declared, that if I was resolute in opposing her, she 


EVELINA. 


185 


would instantly make a will, in which she would leave all her 
fortune to strangers, though, otherwise, she intended her grand- 
daughter for her sole heiress. 

^ To me, I own, this threat seemed of little consequence ; I have 
long accustomed myself to think, that with a competency, of 
which she is sure, my child might be as happy as in the posses- 
sion of millions ; but the incertitude of her future fate deters me 
from following implicitly the dictates of my present judgment. 
The connexions she may hereafter form, the style of life for 
which she may be destined, are considerations which give but 
too much weight to the menaces of Madame Duval, In short, 
madam, after a discourse infinitely tedious, I was obliged, though 
very reluctantly, to compromise with this ungovernable woman, 
by consenting that Evelina should pass one month with her. 

I never made a concession with so bad a grace, or so much 
regret. The violence and vulgarity of this woman, her total igno- 
rance of propriety, the family to which she is related, and the 
company she is likely to keep, are objections so forcible to her 
having the charge of this dear child, that nothing less than my 
diffidence of the right I have of depriving her of so large a f:r- 
tune would have induced me to listen to her proposal. Indeed, 
we parted, at last, equally discontented ; she at what I had 
refused, I at what I had granted. 

It now only remains for me to return your ladyship my hum- 
ble acknowledgments for the kindness which you have so liber- 
ally shown to my ward ; and to beg you would have the good- 
ness to part with her when Madame Duval thinks proper to 
claim the promise which she has extorted from me. I am dear, 
madam, &c. 


Arthur Villars. 


186 


EVELINA. 


LETTER XXXIX. 

Mr. Villars to Evelina. 


Berry Hill, May 28. 

With a reluctance which occasions me inexpressible uneasi- 
ness, I have been almost compelled to consent that my Evelina 
should quit the protection of the hospitable and respectable Lady 
Howard, and accompany Madame Duval to a city which I had 
hoped she would never again have entered. But, alas, my dear 
child, we are the slaves of custom, the dupes of prejudice, and dare 
not stem the torrent of an opposing world, even though our judg- 
ments condemn our compliance ! However, since the die is cast, 
we must endeavour to make the best of it. 

You will have occasion in the course of the month you are to 
pass with Madame Duval, for all the circumspection and pru- 
dence you can call to your aid. She will not, I know, propose 
any thing to you which she thinks wrongs herself ; but you must 
learn not only to judge but to act for yourself : if any schemes 
are started, any engagements made, which your understanding 
represents to you as improper, exert yourself resolutely in avoid- 
ing them ; and do not, hy a too passive facility, risk the censure 
of the world, or your own future regret. 

You cannot too assiduously attend to Madame Duval herself; 
but I would wish you to mix as little as possible with her 
associates, who are not likely to be among those whose acquain- 
tance would reflect credit upon you. Remember, my dear 
Evelina, nothing is so delicate as the reputation of a woman ; it 
is at once the most beautiful and most brittle of all human 
things. 

Adieu, my beloved child ; I shall be but ill at ease till this 
month is elapsed. A. V. 


EVELINA. 


187 


LETTER XL. 

Evelina to the Rev, Mr. Villars. 


London, June 6. 

Once more, my dearest sir, I write to you from this great 
city. Yesterday morning, with the truest concern, I quitted the 
dear inhabitants of Howard Grove, and most impatiently shall I 
count the days till I see them again. Lady Howard and Mrs. 
Mirvan took leave of me with the most flattering kindness ; but 
indeed I knew not how to part with Maria, whose own apparent 
sorrow redoubled mine. She made me promise to send her a 
letter every post ; and I shall write to her with the same free- 
dom, and almost the same confidence, you allow me to make use 
of to yourself. 

The captain was very civil to me : but he wrangled with poor 
Madame Duval to the last moment; and taking me aside, just 
before we got into the chaise, he said, “ Harkee, Miss Anville, 
I’ve a favour for to ask of you, which is this ; that you will write 
us word how the old gentlewoman finds herself, when she sees it 
was all a trick ; and what the French lubber says to it, and all 
about it.” 

I answered that I would obey him, though I was very little 
pleased with the commission, which, to me, was highly improper ; 
but he will either treat me as an informer^ or make me a party 
in his frolic. 

As soon as we drove away, Madame Duval, with much satis- 
faction, exclaimed, mem, we’ve got off at last ! I’m sure 

I never desire to see that place again. It’s a wonder T’ve got 
away alive ; for I believe I’ve had the worst luck ever was 
known from the time I set my foot upon the threshold. I know 
I wish I’d never a gone. Besides, into the bargain, it’s the most 
dullest place in all Christendom : there’s never no diversions, nor 
nothing at all.” 

Then she bewailed M. du Bois ; concerning whose adventures 


188 


EVELINA. 


she continued to make various conjectures during the rest of our 
journey. 

When I asked her what part of London she should reside in, 
she told me that Mr. Branghton was to meet us at an inn, and 
would conduct us to a lodging. Accordingly, we proceeded to a 
house in Bishopsgate-street, and were led by a waiter into a 
room where we found Mr. Branghton. 

He received us very civilly ; but seemed rather surprised at 
' seeing me, saying, “ Why, I didn’t think of your bringing miss ; 
however, she’s very welcome.” 

“ I’ll tell you how it was,” said Madame Duval : “ you must 
know I’ve a mind to take the girl to Paris, that she may see 
something of the world, and improve herself a little ; besides. 
I’ve another reason, that you and I will talk more about. But, 
do you know, that meddling old parson, as I told you of, would 
not let her go ! However, I’m resolved I’ll be even with him ; 
for I shall take her on with me, without saying never a word 
more to nobody.” 

I started at this intimation, which very much surprised me. 
But T am very glad she has discovered her intentions, as I shall 
be carefully upon my guard not to venture from town with her. 

Mr. Branghton then hoped we had passed our time agreeably 
in the country. 

“ 0 Lord, cousin,” cried she, “ I’ve been the miserablest crea-. 
ture in the world ! I’m sure all the horses in London sha’n’t 
drag me into the country again of one while : — why, how do you 
think I’ve been served ? only guess.” 

“ Indeed, cousin, I can’t pretend to do that.” 

“ Why, then. I’ll tell you. Do you know, I’ve been robbed ! 
— that is, the villain would have robbed me if he could, only I’d 
secured all my money.” 

“ Why then, cousin, I think your loss can’t have been very 
great.” 

“ 0 Lord, you don’t know what you are a-saying ; you’re talk- 
ing in the unthinkingest manner in the world : why, it was all 
along of not having no money that I met with that misfortune.” 


EVELINA. 


189 


“ How’s that, cousin ? I don’t see what great misfortune you 
can have met with if you’d secured all your money.” 

“ That’s because you don’t know nothing of the matter : for 
there the villain came to the chaise ; and because we hadn’t got 
nothing to give him, though he’d no more right to our money 
than the man in the moon, yet, do you know, he fell into the 
greatest passion ever you see, and abused me in such a manner, 
and put me in a ditch, and got a rope o’ purpose to hang me ; — 
and I’m sure, if that wasn’t misfortune enough, why I don’t know 
what is.” 

“ This is a hard case, indeed, cousin. But why don’t you go 
to Justice Fielding ?” 

o 

“ O, as to that, I’m a-going to him directly ; but only I want 
first to see poor M. du Bois ; for the oddest thing of all is, that 
he has wrote to me, and never said nothing of where he is, nor 
what’s become of him, nor nothing else.” 

' “ M. du Bois ! why he’s at my house at this very time.” 

“ M. du Bois at your house ! Well, I declare this is the sur- 
prisingest part of all. However, I assure you, I think he might 
have corned for me as well as you, considering what I have gone 
through on his account ; for, to tell you the truth, it was all 
along of him that I met with that accident ; so I don’t take it 
very kind of him, I promise you.” 

“ Well, but, cousin, tell me some of the particulars of this 
affair,” 

“ As to the particulars, I’m sure they’d make your hair stand 
on end to hear them : however, the beginning of it all was 
through the fault of M. du Bois : but I’ll assure you, he may 
take care of himself in future, since he don’t so much as come to 
see if I’m dead or alive. But there I went for him to a justice 
of peace, and rode all out of the way, and did every thing in 
the world, and was used worser than a dog, and all for the sake 
of serving of him ; and now, you see, he don’t so much — well, I 
was a fool for my pains. However, he may get somebody else 
to be treated so another time ; for, if he’s taken up every day in 
the week, I’ll never go after him no more.” 


190 


EVELINA. 


This occasioned an explanation ; in the course of which 
Madame Duval, to her utter amazement, heard that M. du Bois 
had never left London during her absence ! nor did Mr. Brangh- 
ton believe that he had ever been to the Tower, or met with 
any kind of accident. 

Almost instantly, the whole truth of the transaction seemed to * 
rush upon her mind^ and her wrath was inconceivably violent. 
She asked me a thousand questions in a breath ; but fortunately, 
was too vehement to attend to my embarrassment, which must 
otherwise have betrayed my knowledge of the deceit. Revenge 
was her first wish ; and she vowed she would go the next morn- 
ing to Justice Fielding, and inquire what punishment she might 
lawfully inflict upon the captain for his assault. 

I believe we were an hour in Bishopsgate-street before poor 
Madame Duval could allow any thing to be mentioned but her 
own story : at length, however, Mr. Branghton told her that 
M. du Bois and all his own family were waiting for her at his 
house. A hackney-coach was then called, and we proceeded to 
Snow-hill. 

Mr. Branghton’s house is small and inconvenient; though 
his shop, which takes in all the ground-floor, is large and com- 
modious. I believe I told you before that he is a silversmith. 

We were conducted up two pair of stairs ; for the dining- 
room, Mr. Branghton told us, was let. His two daughters, their 
brother, M. du Bois, and a young man were at tea. They had 
waited some time for Madame Duval, but I found they had not 
any expectation that I should accompany her ; and the young 
ladies, I believe, were rather more surprised than pleased when I 
made my appearance ; for they seemed hurt that I should see 
their apartment. Indeed, I would willingly have saved them 
that pain had it been in my power. 

The first person who saw me was M. du Bois. mon 

Dieu r exclaimed he, “ voila mademoiselle 

“Goodness,” cried young Branghton, “if there isn’t miss!” 

“•Lord, so there is,” said Miss Polly ; “ well. I’m sure I should 
never have dreamed of miss’s coming.” 


EVELINA. 


191 


“Nor I neither, I’m sure,” cried Miss Branghton, “or else I 
would not have been in this room to see her : I’m quite ashamed 
about it; only not thinking of seeing anybody but my aunt — 
however, Tom, it’s all your fault; for you know very well I 
wanted to borrow Mr. Smith’s room, only you were so grumpy 
you would not let me.” 

“ Lord, what signifies ?” said the brother ; “ I dare be sworn 
miss has been up two pairs of stairs before now ; hav’n’t you, 
miss ?” 

I begged that I might not give them the least disturbance; 
and assured them that I had not any choice in regard to what 
room we sat in. 

“Well,” said Miss Polly, “when you come next, miss, we'll 
have ^Ir. Smith’s room : and it’s a very pretty one, and only up 
one pair of stairs, and nicely furnished, and every thing.” 

“ To say the truth,” said Miss Branghton, “ I thought that ray 
cousin would not, upon any account, have come to town in the 
summer-time; for it’s not at all the fashion : — so to be sure, 
thinks I, she’ll stay till September, when the playhouses open.” 

This was my reception, which I believe you will not call a 
very cordial one. Madame Duval, who, after having severely 
reprimanded M. du Bois for his negligence, was just entering upon 
the story of her misfortunes, now wholly engaged the company. 

M. du Bois listened to her with a look of the utmost horror, 
repeatedly lifting up his eyes and hands, and exclaiming, “0 
del! quel barhare P'' The young ladies gave her the most ear- 
nest attention; but their brother and the youftg man kept a 
broad grin upon their faces during the whole recital. She was, 
however, too much engaged to observe them ; but, when she 
mentioned having been tied in a ditch, young Branghton, no 
longer able to constrain himself, burst into a loud laugh, declar- 
ing that he had never heard any thing so funny in his life ! His 
laugh was heartily re-echoed by his friend ; the Misses Brangh- 
ton could not resist the example ; and poor Madame Duval, to 
her extreme amazement, was absolutely overpowered and stopped 
by the violence of their mirth. 


192 


EVELINA. 


For some minutes the room seemed quite in an uproar; the 
rage of Madame Duval, the astonishment of M. du Bois, and the 
angry interrogatories of Mr. Branghton, on one side, the convul- 
sive tittering of- the sisters and the loud laughs of the young men, 
on the other, occasioned such noise, passion, and confusion, that 
had any one stopped an instant on the stairs, he must have con- 
cluded himself in Bedlam. At length, however, the father brought 
them to order; and, half-laughing, half-frightened, they made 
Madame Duval some very awkward apologies. But she would 
not be prevailed upon to continue her narrative till they had 
protested they were laughing at the captain, and not at her. 
Appeased by this, she resumed her story ; which, by the help of 
stuffing handkerchiefs into their mouths, the young people heard 
with tolerable decency. 

Everybody agreed that the ill usage the captain had given her 
was actionable : and Mr. Branghton said, he was sure she might 
recover what damages she pleased, since she had been put in 
fear of her life. 

She then, with great delight, declared that she would lose no 
time in satisfying her revenge, and vowed she would not be con- 
tented with less than half his fortune : “ For though,” said she^ 
“ I don’t put no value upon the money, because, Dieu merci, I 
ha’n’t no want of it, yet I don’t wish for nothing so much as to 
punish that fellow ; for I’m sure, whatever’s the cause of it, he 
owes me a great grudge^ and I know no more what it’s for than 
you do ; but he’s always been doing me one spite or other ever 
since I knew him.” 

Soon after tea, Miss Branghton took an opportunity to tell 
me, in a whisper, that the young man I saw was a lover of her 
sister’s, that his name was Brown, and that he was a haber- 
dasher, with many other particulars of his circumstances and 
family ; and then she declared her utter aversion to the thoughts 
of such a match ; but added, that her sister had no manner of 
spirit or ambition, though, for her part, she would ten times 
rather die an old maid, than marry any person but a gentleman. 
“And for that matter,” added she, “I believe Polly herself don’t 


EVELINA. 


193 


care much for him, only she’s in such a hurry, because, I suppose, 
slie’s a mind to be married before me ; however, she’s very wel- 
come ; for I’m sure I don’t care a pin’s point whether I ever 
marry at all ; — it’s all one to me.” 

Some tim^ after this. Miss Polly contrived to tell her story. 
She assured me, with much tittering, that her sister was in a 
great fright lest she should be married first. “ So I make her 
believe that I will,” continued she; “for I love dearly to plague 
her a little ; though I declare I don’t intend to have Mr. Brown 
in reality : — I’m sure I don’t like him half well enough, — do 
you, miss?” 

“ It is not possible for me to judge of his merits,” said I, “ as I 
am entirely a stranger to him.” 

“ But what do you think of him, miss ?” 

“ Why, really, I — I don’t know.” 

“But do you think him handsome? Some people reckon him 
to have a good, pretty person ; — but I’m sure, for my part, I 
think he’s monstrous ugly ; — don’t you^ miss ?” 

“ I am no judge, — but I think his person is very — very well.” 

“ Very well ! Why, pray, miss,” in a tone of vexation, “ what 
fault can you find in it?” 

“ O, none at all.” 

“ Pm sure you must be very ill-natured if you could. Now 
there’s Biddy says she thinks nothing of him, — but I know it’s 
all out of spite. You must know, miss, it makes her as mad as 
can be that I should have a lover before her ; but she’s so proud 
that nobody will court her, and I often tell her she’ll die an old 
maid. But the thing is, she has taken it into her head to have 
a liking for Mr. ^mith, as lodges on the first floor ; but. Lord, 
he’ll never have her, for he’s quite a fine gentleman ; and besides 
Mr. Brown heard him say, one day, that he’d never marry as 
long as he lived, for he’d no opinion of matrimony.” 

“ And did you tell your sister this ?” 

“ O, to be sure, I told her directly ; but she did not mind me ; 
however, if she will be a fool, she must.” 

This extreme want of affection and good-nature increased the 

9 


11 ) 4 : 


EVELINA. 


(ilslaste I already felt for these nnamiable sisters; and a confi- 
dence so entirely unsolicited and unnecessary manifested equally 
their folly and their want of decency. 

I was very glad when the time for onr departure arrived, 
ivir. Bran o;h ton said our lod^intrs were in Ilolborn, that we miu^ht 
l>e near his house, and neighbourly. He accompanied us to 
them himself. 

Our rooms are large, and not inconvenient; our landlord is a 
hosier. I am sure I have a thousand reasons to rejoice that I 
am so little known ; for my present situation is, in every respect, 
very unenviable ; and I would not for the world be seen by any 
acquaintance of Mrs. Mirvan. 

This morning Madame Duval, attended by all the Branghtons, 
actually went to a justice in the neighbourhood, to report the 
captain’s ill usage of her. I had great difficulty in excising my- 
self from being of the party, which would have given me very 
serious concern. Indeed, I was extremely anxious, though at 
home, till I heard the result of the application, for I dread to 
think of the uneasiness which such an affair would occasion 
the amiable Mrs. Mirvan. But, fortunately, Madame Duval has 
received very little encouragement to proceed in her design ; for 
she has been informed, that as she neither heard the voice nor 
saw the face of the person suspected, she will find difficulty to 
cast him upon conjecture^ and will have but little probability of 
gaining her cause, unless she can procure witnesses of the trans- 
action. Mr. Branghton, therefore, who has considered all the 
circumstances of the aflfair, is of opinion that the lawsuit will not 
only be expensive, but tedious and hazardous, and has advised 
against it. Madame Duval, though very unwillingly, has acqui- 
esced ill his decision ; but vows that if ever she is so aifronted 
again, she will be revenged, even if she ruins herself. I 'am 
extremely glad that this ridiculous adventure seems now likely 
to end without more serious consequeniies. 

Adieu, my dearest sir. My direction is at Mr. Dawkin’s, a 
hosier in High Holbom. 


EVELINA. 


195 


LETl^R XLI.' 

Evelina to Miss. Mirvan. 

June 7. 

I HAve no words, my sweet friend, to express the thankfulness 
I feel for the unbounded kindness which you, your dear mother, 
and the much honoured Lady Howard have shown me ; and 
still less can I find language to tell you with what reluctance I 
parted from such dear and generous friends, whose goodness re- 
flects, at once, so much honour on their own hearts, and on her 
to whom it has been so liberally bestowed. But I will not re- 
peat what I have already written to the kind Mrs. Mirvan ; I 
will remember your admonitions, and confine to my own breast 
that gratitude with which you have filled it, and teach my pen 
to dwell upon subjects less painful to my generous correspon- 
dent. 

0, Maria ! London seems now no longer the same place where I 
lately enjoyed so much happiness : every thing is new and 
strange to me ; even the town itself has not the same aspect. — 
My situation so altered ! — my home so different ! — my com- 
panions so changed ! — But you well know my averseness to this 
journey. 

Indeed, to me London now seems a desert: that gay and 
busy appearance it so lately wore is now succeeded by a look of 
gloom, fatigue, and lassitude ; the air seems stagnant, the heat is 
intense, the dust intolerable, and the inhabitants illiterate and 
under-bred. At least, such is the face of things in the part of 
the town where I at present reside. 

Tell me, my dear Maria, do you never retrace in yoiir me- 
mory the time we passed here when together ? to mine it recurs 
for ever I And yet I think I rather recollect a dream, or some 
visionary fancy, than a reality. — That I should ever have been 
known to Lord Orville, — that I should have spoken to, — have 
danced with him, — seems now a romantic illusion : and that 
elegant politeness, that flattering attention, that high-bred delicacy 


196 


EVELINA. 


which so much distinguished him above all other men, and 
♦rhich struck us with such admiration, I now retrace the remem- 
brance of rather as belonging to an object of ideal perfection^ 
formed by my own imagination, than to a being of the same race 
and nature as those with whom I at present converse. 

I have no news for you, my dear Miss Mirvan ; for all that I 
could venture to say of Madame Duval I have already written to 
your sweet mother ; and as to adventures, I have none to record. 
Situated as I now am, I heartily hope I shall not meet with any ; 
my wish is to remain quiet and unnoticed. 

Adieu ! excuse the gravity of this letter ; and believe me your 
most sincerely 

Affectionate and obliged 

Evelina Anville. 


LETTER XLII. 

Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 


Holborn, June 9. 

Yesterday morning we received an invitation to dine and 
spend the day at Mr. Branghton’s ; and M. du Bois, who was 
also invited, called to conduct us to Snow-hill. 

Young Branghton received us at the door; and the first 
words he spoke were, “ Do you know sisters ain’t dressed yet !” 

Then hurrying us into the house, he said to me, “ Come, miss, 
you shall go up stairs and catch ’em — I dare say they’re at the 
glass.” 

He would have taken my hand, but I declined this civility, 
and begged to follow Madame Duval. 

Mr. Branghton then appeared, and led the way himself. We 
went, as before, up two pair of stairs ; but the moment the father 
opened the door, the daughters both gave a loud scream. We 
all stbpped ; and then Miss Branghton called out, “ Lord, papa, 
what do you bring the company up here for ? why, Polly and I 
ain’t half-dressed.” 


EVELINA. 


197 


“ More shame for you,” answered he ; “ here’s your aunt and 
cousin, and M. du Bois, all waiting, and ne’er a room to take 
them to.” 

“ Who’d have thought of their coming so soon ?” cried she : 
“ I am sure, for my part, I thought miss was used to nothing but 
quality hours.” 

“ Why I sha’n t be ready this half-hour yet,” said Miss Polly ; 
“ can’t they stay in the shop till we’re dressed ?” 

Mr. Branghton was very angry, and scolded them violently : 
however, we were obliged to descend, and stools were procured 
for us in the shop, where we found the brother, who was highly 
delighted, he said, that his sisters had been catched ; and he 
thought proper to entertain me with a long account of their 
tediousness, and the many quarrels they all had together. 

When at length, these ladies were equipped to their satisfac- 
tion, they made their appearance ; but before any conversation 
was suffered to pass between them and us, they had a long and 
most disagreeable dialogue with their father, to whose repri- 
mands, though so justly incurred, they replied with the utmost 
pertness, while their brother all the time laughed aloud. 

The moment they perceived this, they were so much provoked, 
that, instead of making any apologies to Madame Duval, they 
next began to quarrel with him. “ Tom, what do you laugh 
for ? I wonder what business you have to be always a-laughing 
when papa scolds us ?” 

“Then what business have you to be such a while getting on 
your clothes ? You’re never ready, you know well enough.” 

“ Lord, sir, I wonder what’s that to you ! I wish you’d mind 
your own affairs, and not trouble yourself about ours. How 
should a boy like you know any thing ?” • 

“ A boy, indeed ! not su(5h a boy neither f I’ll warrant you’ll 
be glad to be as youijg when you come to be old maids.” 

This sort of dialogue we were amused with till dinner was 
ready, when we again mounted up two pair of stairs. 

In our way Miss Polly told me that her sister had asked Mr. 
Smith for his room to dine in, but he had refused to lend it, be- 


198 


EVELINA. 


cause, she said, oue day it happened to be a little greased : how- 
ever, we shall have it to drink tea in, and then, perhaps, you may 
see him : and I assure you he’s quite like one of the quality, 
and dresses as fine, and goes to balls, and dances and every 
thing quite in taste ; and besides, miss, he keeps a footboy of his 
own too. 

The dinner was ill-served, ill-cooked, and ill-managed. The 
maid who waited had so often to go down-stairs for something 
that was forgotten, that the Branghtons were perpetually obliged 
to rise from table themselves, to get plates, knives, and forks, 
bread, or beer. Had they been without pretensions, all this 
would have seemed of no consequence ; but they aimed at ap- 
pearing to advantage, and, even fancied they succeeded. How- 
ever, the most disagreeable part of our fare was, that the whole 
family continually disputed whose turn it was to rise, and whose 
to be allowed to sit still. 

When this meal was over, Madame Duval, ever eager to dis- 
course upon her travels, entered into an argument with Mr. 
Branghton, and, in broken English, M. du Bois, concerning the 
French nation : and Miss Polly, then addressing herself to me 
said, “ Don’t you think, miss, it’s very dull sitting up-stairs here ? 
we’d better go down to shop, and then we shall see the people 
go by.” 

“ Lord, Poll,” said the brother, “ you’re always wanting to be 
staring and gaping ; and I’m sure you needn’t be so fond of 
showing yourself, for you’re ugly enough to frighten a horse.” 

“ Ugly, indeed ! I wonder which is best, you or me. But, I 
tell you what, Tom, you’ve no need to give yourself such airs ! 
for, if you do. I’ll tell miss of — you know what.” . 

“ Who cares if you do ? you may tell what you will, I don’t 
mind ” ^ - 

“ Indeed,” cried I, “ I do not desire to henr any secrets.” 

“ 0, but I’m resolved I’ll tell you, because Tom’s so very spite- 
ful. You must know miss t’other night ” > 

“Poll,” cried the brother, “ if you tell of that, miss shall know 


EVELINA. 


199 


all about your meeting young Brown, — you know when ! — So 
I’ll be quits with you one way or other.” 

Miss Polly coloured, and again proposed our going down-stairs, 
till Mr. Smith’s room was ready for our reception. 

“ Ay, so we will,” said Miss Branghton ; “ I’ll assure you, 
cousin, we have some very genteel people pass by our shop 
sometimes. Polly and I always go and sit there when we’ve 
cleaned ourselves.” 

“Yes, miss,” cried the brother, “ they do nothing else all day 
long when father don’t scold them. But the best fun is, when 
they’ve got all their dirty things on, and all their hair about 
their ears, sometimes I send young Brown up stairs to them : 
and then there’s such a fuss? — There they hide themselves, and 
run away, and squeal and squall like any thing mad : and so 
then I puts the two cats into the room, and I gives them a good 
whipping, and so that sets them a squalling too ; so there’s such 
a noise and such an uproar ! — Lord, you can’t think, miss, what 
fun it is !” 

This occasioned a fresh quarrel with the sisters ; at the end 
of which it was at length decided that we should go to the 
shop. 

In our way down stairs, Miss Branghton said aloud, “ I wonder 
when Mr. Smith’s room will be ready.” 

“So do I,” answered Polly ; “I’m sure we should not do any 
harm to it now.” 

This hint had not the ^desired effect ; for we were suffered to 
proceed very quietly. 

As we entered the shop, I observed a young man in deep 
mourning leaning against the wall, with his arms folded, and his 
eyes fixed on the. ground, apparently in profound and melancholy 
meditation ; but the moment he percei'^ed us he started, and 
making a passing bow, very abruptly retired. As I found he was 
permitted to go quite unnoticed, I could not forbear inquiring who 
he was. 

“ Lord,” answered Miss Branghton, “ he’s nothing but a poor 
Scotch poet.” 


*200 


EVELINA. 


For my part,” said Miss Polly, “ T believe he’s just starved, 
for I don’t find he has any thing to live upon.” 

“ Live upon !” cried the brother ; “ why he’s a poet, you know, 
so he may live upon learning.” 

‘‘ Ay, and good enough for him too,” said Miss Branghton ; 
“ for he’s as proud as he’s poor.” 

“Like enough,” replied the brother; “ but, for all that, you 
won’t find he will live without meat and drink : no, no ; catch a 
Scotchman at that if you can ! why, they only come here for what 
they can get.” 

“ I’m sure,” said Miss Branghton, “ I wonder papa’ll be such a 
fool as to let him stay in the house, for I dare say he’ll never pay 
for his lodging.” 

“ Why no more he would, if he could get another lodger : you 
know the bill has been put up this fortnight. Miss, if you should 
hear of a person that wants a room, I assure you it is a very 
good one, for all it’s up three pair of stairs.” 

I answered, that as I had no acquaintance in London, I had 
not any chance of assisting them : but both my compassion and 
my curiosity were excited for this poor young man ; and I asked 
them some further particulars concerning him. 

They then acquainted me that they had only known him three 
months. When he first lodged with them, he agreed to board 
also ; but had lately told them he would eat by himself, though 
they all believed he had hardly ever tasted a morsel of meat 
since he left their table. They said that he had always appeared 
very low-spirited ; but for the last monlh he had been duller than 
ever ; and, all of a sudden, he had put himself into mourning, 
though they knew not for whom nor for what ; but they supposed 
it was only for convenience, as no person had ever been to 
see or inquire for him since his residence among them ; and they 
were sure he was very poor, as he had not paid for his lodgings 
the last three weeks ; and finally, they concluded he was a poet, 
or else half-crazy, because they had, at diflferent times, found 
scraps of poetry in his room. 

They then produced some unfinished verses, written on small 


EVELINA. 


201 


pieces of paper, unconnected, and of a most melancholy cast. 
Among them was the fragment of an ode, which, at my request 
they lent me to copy ; and as you may perhaps like to see it, I 
will write it now. 

0 life ! thou lingering dream of grief, of pain, 

And every ill that Nature can sustain, 

Strange, mutable, and wild ! 

Now flattering with Hope most fair, 

Depressing now with fell Despair. 

The nurse of Guilt, the slave of Pride, 

That like a wayward child. 

Who, to himself a foe. 

Sees joy alone in what’s denied. 

In what is granted wo 1 
0 thou poor, feeble, fleeting pow’r 
By Vice seduced, by Folly woo’d. 

By Misery, Shame, Remorse pursued ; 

And as thy toilsome steps proceed. 

Seeming to Youth the fairest flow’r. 

Proving to Age the rankest weed, 

A gilded but a bitter pill. 

Of varied, great, and complicated ill ! 


These lines are harsh, but they indicate an internal wretched- 
ness, which, I own, affects me. Surely this young man must be 
involved in misfortunes of no common nature but I cannot 
imagine what can induce him to remain with this unfeeling 
family, where he is most unworthily despised for being poor, and 
most illiberally detested for being a Scotchman. He may indeed 
have motives,' which he cannot surmount, for submitting to such 
a situation. Whatever they are, I most heartily pity him, and 
cannot but wish it were in my power to afford him some relief. 

During this conversation, Mr. Smith’s footboy came to Miss 
Branghton, and informed her that his master said she might have 
the room now' when she liked it, for that he was presently going 
out. 

This very genteel message, though it perfectly satisfied the Misses 
Branghton, by no means added to my desire of being introduced 
to this gentleman ; and upon their rising with intention to accept 
his offer, I begged they would excuse ray# attending them, and 
said I would sit with Madame Duval till the tea was ready. 


202 


EYELmA. 


I therefore once more went up two pair of stairs with young 
Branghton, who insisted upon accompanying me ; and there we 
remained till Mr. Smith’s footboy summoned us to tea, when I 
followed Madame Duval into the dining-room. 

The Miss Branghtons were seated at one window, and Mr. 
Smith was lolling indolently out of the other. They all approach- 
ed us at our entrance ; and Mr. Smith, probably to show he was 
master of the apartment, most officiously handed me to a great 
chair at the upper end of the room, without taking any notice of 
Madame Duval, till I rose and offered her my own seat. 

Leaving the rest of the company to entertain themselves, he 
very abruptly began to address himself to me in a style of gal- 
lantry equally new and disagreeable to me. It is true, no man 
can possibly pay me greater compliments, or make more fine 
speeches, than Sir Clement Willoughby ; yet his language, 
though too flowery, is always that of a gentleman ; and his 
address and manners are so very superior to those of the inhabi- 
tants of this house, that to make any comparison between him 
and Mr. Smith would be extremely unjust. This latter seems 
very desirous of appearing a man of gaiety and spirit ; but his 
vivacity is so low-bred, and his whole behaviour so forward and 
disagreeable, that I should prefer the company of Dullness her- 
self, even as that goddess is described by Pope, to that of this 
sprightly young man. 

He made many apologies that he had not lent his room for our 
dinner, which, he said, he should certainly have done had he seen 
me first : and he assured me, that when I came again, he should 
be very glad to oblige me. 

I told him, and with sincerity, that every part of the house was 
equally indifferent to me. 

“ Why, ma’am, the truth is. Miss Biddy and Polly take no care 
of any thing ; else. I’m sure, they should be alwa3^s welcome to 
my rooni ; for I’m never so happy as in obliging the ladies, — 
that’s my character, ma’am : — but really, the last time they had 
it, every thing was made so greasy and so nasty, that, upon my 
word, to a man who wishes to have things a little genteel it was 
quite cruel. 


EVELINA. 


203 


“Now, as to you, ma’am, it's quite another thing, for I should 
not mind if every thing I had was spoiled, for the sake of having 
the pleasure to oblige you ; and I assure you, ma’am, it makes 
me quite happy that I have a room good enough to receive 
you.” 

This elegant speech was followed by many others, so much in 
the same style, that to write them would be superfluous ; and as 
he did not allow me a moment to speak to any other person, the 
rest of the evening was consumed in a painful attention to this 
irksome young man, who seemed to intend appearing before me 
to the utmost advantage. 

Adieu, my dear sir. I fear you will be sick of reading about 
this family ; yet I must write of them, or not of any, since I mix 
with no other. Happy shall I be when I quit them all, and 
again return to Berry Hill. 


LETTER XLHI. 
Evelina in continuation. 


June 10th. 

This morning Mr. Smith called, on purpose., he said, to ofier 
me a ticket for the next Hampstead assembly. I thanked him, but 
desired to be excused accepting it : he would not, however be 
denied, nor answered; and, in a manner both vehement and free, 
pressed and urged his offer till I was wearied to death ; but when 
he found me resolute, he seemed thunderstruck with amazement, 
and thought proper to desire I would tell him my reasons. 

Obvious as they must surely have been to any other person, 
they were such as I knew not how to repeat to him : and, when 
he found I hesitated, he said, “ Indeed, ma’am, you are too 
modest ; I assure you, the ticket is quite at your service, and I 
shall be very happy to dance with you: so pray don’t be so 
coy.” 

“ Indeed, sir,” returned I, “ you are mistaken ; I never supposed 
you would ofier a ticket without wishing it should be accepted ; 


204 : 


K VELINA. 


but it would answer no purpose to mention the reasons which 
make me decline it, since they cannot possibly be removed.” 

This speech seemed very much to mortify him ; which I could 
not be concerned at, as I did not choose to be treated by him 
with so much freeedom. When he was, at last, convinced that 
his application to me was ineffectual, he addressed himself to 
Madame Duval, and begged she would interfere in his favour ; 
offering at the same time to procure another ticket for herself. 

“ Ma fo% sir,” answered, she angrily, you might as well, have 
had the complaisance to ask me before ; for, I assure you, I don’t 
approve of no such rudeness : however you may keep your 
tickets to yourself, for we don’t want none of ’em.” 

This rebuke almost overset him : he made many apologies, 
and said that he should certainly have first applied to her but that 
he had no notion the young lady would have refused him, and 
on the contrary, had concluded that she would have assisted 
him to persuade Madame Duval herself. 

This excuse appeased her, and he pleaded his cause so success- 
fully, that to ray great chagrin, he gained it, and Madame Duval 
promised that she would go herself, and take me to the Hamp- 
stead assembly, whenever he pleased. 

Mr. Smith, then approaching me with an air of triumph, said, 
“ Well, ma’am, now I think you can’t possibly keep to your 
denial.” 

I made no answer, and he soon took leave, though not till he 
had so wonderfully gained the favour of Madame Duval, that she 
declared, when he was gone, he was the prettiest young man she 
had seen since she came to England. 

As soon as I could find an opportunity, I ventured, in the most 
humble manner, to entreat Madame Duval would not insist upon 
my attending her to this ball ; and represented to her, as well as 
I was able, the impropriety of my accepting any present from a 
young man so entirely unknown to me : but she laughed at ray 
scruples ; called me a foolish, ignorant country-girl ; and said 
she should make it her business to teach me something of the 
world. 


EVELINA. 


205 


This ball is to be next week. I am sure it is not more impro- 
per for than unpleasant to me, and I will use every possible en- 
deavour to avoid it. Perhaps I may apply to Miss Branghton 
for advice, as I believe she will be willing to assist me, from 
disliking equally with myself that I should dance with Mr. 
Smith. 


June 11th. 

O, my dear sir, I have been shocked to death ; and yet at 
the same time delighted beyond expression, in the hope that I 
have happily been the instrument of saving a human creature 
from destruction. 

This morning Madame Duval said she would invite the Brangh- 
ton family to return our visit to-morrow ; and not choosing 
to rise herself — for she generally spends the morning in bed, 
— she desired me to wait upon them with her message. M. du 
Bois, who just then called, insisted upon attending me. 

Mr. Branghton was in the shop, and told us that his son and 
daughter were out ; but desired me to step up-stairs, as he very 
soon expected them home. This I did, leaving M. du Bois below. 
T went into the room where we had dined the day before ; and 
by a wonderful chance, I happened so to seat myself, that I had 
a view of the stairs, and yet could not be seen from them. 

In about ten minutes’ time, I saw passing by the door with 
a look perturbed and affrighted, the same young man I mentioned 
in my last letter. Not heeding, as 1 suppose, how he went, in 
turning the corner of the stairs, which are narrow and winding 
his foot slipped and he fell ; but almost instantly rising, I plainly 
perceived the end of a pistol, which started from his pocket by 
hitting against the stairs. 

I was inexpressibly shocked. All that I had heard of his 
misery occurring to my memory, made me conclude that he was, 
at that very moment, meditating suicide ! Struck with the 
dreadful idea, all my strength seemed to fail me. He moved on 
slowly, yet I soon lost sight of him ; I sat motionless with terror ; 


206 


EVELINA. 


all power of action forsoot me, and I almost grew stiff with hor- 
ror ; till recollecting that it was yet possible to prevent the fatal 
deed, all my faculties seemed to return with the hope of saving him. 

My first thought was to fly to Mr. Branghton ; but I feared 
that an instant of time lost might for ever be rued ; and there- 
fore, guided by the impulse of my apprehensions, as well as I 
was able I followed him up-stairs, stepping very softly, and 
obliged to support myself by the banisters. 

When I came within a few stairs of the landing place I 
stopped ; for I could then see into his room, as he had not yet 
shut the door. 

He had put the pistol upon a table, and had his hand in his 
pocket, whence, in a few moments, he took out another : he then 
emptied something on the table from a small leather bag ; after 
which, taking up both the pistols, one in each hand, be dropped 
hastily upon his knees, and called out, ‘‘ 0 God ! — forgive me !” 

In a moment strength and courage seemed lent to me as by 
inspiration : I started, and rushing precipitately into the room, 
just caught his arm, and then, overcome by my own fears, I fell 
down at his side breathless and senseless. My recovery, how- 
ever, was, I believe, almost instantaneous ; and then the sight of 
this unhappy man, regarding me with a look of unutterable 
astonishment, mixed with concern, presently restored me to my 
recollection. I arose, though with difficulty ; he did the same : 
the pistols, as I soon saw, were both on the floor. 

Unwilling to leave them, and indeed too weak to move, I 
leaned one hand on the table, and then stood perfectly still ; 
while he, his eyes cast wildly towards me, seemed too infinitely 
amazed to be capable of either speech or action. 

I believe we were some minutes in this extraordinary situa- 
tion ; but, as my strength returned, T felt myself both ashamed 
and awkward, and moved towards the door. Pale and motion- 
less, he suffered me to pass without changing his posture, or 
uttering a syllable ; and indeed. 


He look’d a bloodless image of despair. 


EVELINA. 


207 


When I reached the door T turned round ; I looked fearfully 
at the pistols, and, impelled by an emotion I could not repress, I 
hastily stepped back, with an intention of carrying them awav : 
but their wretched owner, perceiving my design, and recovering 
from his astonishment, darting suddenly down, seized them both 
himself. 

Wild with fright, and scarce knowing what I did, I caught, 
almost involuntarily, hold of both his arms, and exclaimed, “ O, 
sir ! have mercy on yourself!” 

The guilty pistols fell from his hands, which, disengaging from 
me, he fervently clasped, and cried, “ Sweet Heaven ! is this thy 
angel V’ 

Encouraged by such gentleness, I again attempted to take the 
pistols ; but, with a look half-frantic, he again prevented me, say- 
ing, “ AVhat would you do ?” 

“ Awaken you,” I cried, with a courage I now wonder at, “ to 
worthier thoughts, and rescue you from perdition.” 

I then seized the pistols ; he said not a word, — he made no 
effort to stop me ; — T glided quick by him, and tottered down- 
stairs ere he had recovered from his extreme amazement. ■ 

The moment I reached again the room I had so fearfully left» 
1 threw away the pistols, and flinging myself on the first chair, 
gave free vent to the feelings I had most painfully stifled, in a 
violent burst of tears, which, indeed, proved a happy relief to me. 

In this situation I remained some time ; but when, at length, 
I lifted up my head, the first object I saw was the poor man who 
had occasioned my terror, standing as if petrified at the door, 
and gazing at me with eyes of wild wonder. 

I started fronj the chair ; but trembled so excessively, that I 
almost instantly sunk again into it. He then, though without 
advancing, and in a faltering voice, said, “ Whoever or whatever 
you are, relieve me, I pray you, from suspense under which my 
soul labours — and tell me if indeed I do not dream ?” 

To this address, so singular and so solemn, I had not then the 
presence of mind, to frame any answer ; but as I presently per- 
ceived that his eyes turned from me to the pistols, and that he 


208 


EVELINA. 


seemed to intend regaining them, I exerted all my strength, and 
savinor “ 0, for Heaven’s sake forbear !” I arose and took them 
myself. 

“ Do my senses deceive me ?” cried he, “ do / live — and do 
you V'' 

As he spoke he advanced towards me ; and I, still guarding 
the pistols, retreated, saying, “ No, no — you must not — must not 
have them !” 

“ Why — for what purpose, tell me ! — do you withhold them ?” 

‘To give you time to think; — to save you from eternal 
misery ; and, I hope, to reserve you for mercy and forgiveness.” 

“Wonderful!” cried he, with uplifted hands and eyes, “most 
wonderful !” 

For some time he seemed wrapped in deep thought, till a 
sudden noise of tongues below announcing the approach of the 
Branghtons made him start from his revery : he sprung hastily 
forward, — dropped on one knee, — caught hold of my gown, 
which he pressed to his lips ; and then, quick as lightning, he 
rose, and flew up-stairs to his own room. 

There was something in the whole of this extraordinary and 
shocking adventure really too affecting to be borne ; and so 
entirely had I spent my spirits, and exhausted my courage, that 
before the Branghtons had reached me, I had sunk on the ground 
without sense or motion. 

I believe I must have been a very horrid sight to them on 
their entrance into the room ; for, to all appearance, I seemed 
to have suffered a violent death, either by my own rashness, or 
the cruelty of some murderer, as the pistols had fallen close by 
my side. 

How soon I recovered I know not ; but, probably, I was more 
indebted to the loudness of their cries than to their assistance : 
for they all concluded that I was dead, and for some time did 
not make any effort to revive me. 

Scarcely did I recollect where, or indeed what, I was, ere they 
poured upon me such a torrent of questions and inquiries, that I 
was almost stunned with their vociferation. However, as soon 


EVELINA 


209 


and as well as I was able, I endeavoured to satisfy their curiosity, 
by recounting what had happened as clearly as was in my power. 
They all looked aghast at the recital ; but not being well enough 
to enter into any discussions, I begged to have a chair called, 
and to return instantly home. 

Before I left them, I recommended, with great earnestness, a 
vigilant observance of their unhappy lodger; and that they 
would take care to keep from him, if possible, all means of self- 
destruction. 

M. du Bois, who seemed extremely concerned at my indis- 
position, walked by the side of the chair, and saw me safe to my 
own apartment. 

The rashness and misery of this ill-fated young man engross all 
my thoughts. If, indeed, he is bent upon destroying himself, all 
efforts to safe him will be fruitless. How much do I wish it 
were in my power to discover the nature of the malady which 
thus maddens him, and to offer or procure alleviation to his 
sufferings ! I am sure, my dearest sir, you will be much concerned 
for this poor man ; and, were you here, I doubt not but you 
would find some method of awakening him from the error which 
blinds him, and of pouring the balm of peace and comfort into 
his afflicted soul ! 


LETTER XLIV. 
Evelina in continuation. 


Holborn, June 13tb. 

Yesterday all the Branghtons dined here. Our conversation 
was almost wholly concerning the adventure of the day before. 
Mr. Branghton said, that his first thought was instantly to turn 
his lodger out of doors, “ lest,” continued he, “ his killing himself 
in my house should bring me into any trouble : but then I was 
afraid I should never get the money that he owes me ; whereas, 
if he dies in my house, I have a right to all he leaves behind 
him, if he goes off in my debt. Indeed, I would put him in 


210 


EVELINA. 


prison, — but what should I get by that ? he could not earn any 
thing there, to pay me : so I considered about it some time, and 
then I determined to ask him point-blank for my money out of 
hand. And so I did ; but he told me he’d pay me next week : 
however, I gave him to understand, that though I was no Scotch- 
man, yet I .did not like to be overreached any more than he : 
so then he gave me a ring, which, to my certain knowlege, must 
be worth ten guineas ; and told me he would not part with it for 
his life, and a good deal more such sort of stuff, but that 1 might 
keep it till he could pay me.” 

“ It is ten to one, father,” said young Branghton, “ if he came 
fairly by it.” - 

“Very like not,” answered he; “but that will make no great 
difference, for I shall be able to prove my right to it all one.” - 

What principles ! I could hardly stay in the room. 

“ I’m determined,” said the son, “ I’ll take some opportunity 
to affront him soon, now I know how poor he is, because of the 
airs he gave himself to me when he first came.” 

“ And pray how was that, child ? said Madame Duval. 

“ Why, you never knew such a fuss in your life as he made, 
because one day at dinner I only happened to say, that I sup- 
posed he had never got such a good meal in his life before he 
came to England ; there he fell in such a passion as you can’t 
think : but, for my part, I took no notice of it : for, to be sure, 
thinks I, he must needs be a gentlemen, or he’d never go to be 
so angry about it. However, he won’t put his tricks upon me 
again in a hurry.” 

“ Well,” said Miss Polly, “ he’s grown quite another creature 
to what he was, and he doesn’t run away from us, nor hide him- 
self, nor any thing ; and he’s as civil as can be, and he’s always 
in the shop, and he saunters about the stairs, and he looks at 
every body as comes in.” 

“Why, you may see what he’s after, plain enough,” said Mr 
Branghton ; “ he wants to see miss again.” 

“ Ha, ha, ha ! Lord, how I should laugh,” said the son, “ if' 
he should have fell in love with miss !” 


EVELINA. 


211 


“ I’m sure,” said Miss Braughtou, “ miss is welcome ; but 
for my part, I should be quite ashamed of such a beggarly con- 
quest.” 

Such was the conversation till tea-time, when the appearance 
of Mr. Smith gave a new turn to the discourse. 

Miss Brano’hton desired me to remark with what a smart air 
he entered the room, and asked me if he had not very much of 
a quality look ? 

“ Come,” cried he, advancing to us, “ you ladies must not sit 
together ; wherever I go, I always make it a rule to part the 
ladies.” 

And then, handing Miss Branghton to the next chair, he seated 
himself between us. 

“ Well, now, ladies, T think we sit very well. What say you? 
for my part, I think it was a very good motion.” 

“ If my cousin likes it,” said Miss Branghton, “ I’m sure I’ve 
no objection.” 

“ 0,” cried he, “ I always study what the ladies like, — that’s 
my first thought. And, indeed, it is but natural that you should 
like best to sit by the gentlemen, for what can you find to say to 
one another ?” 

“ Say !” cried young Branghton ; “ 0, never you think of that ; 
they’ll find enough to say. I’ll be sworn. You know the women 
are never tired of talking.” 

“ Come, come, Tom,” said Mr. Smith, “ don’t be severe upon 
the ladies; when I’m by, you know I always take their part.” 

Soon after, when Miss Branghton offered me some cake, this 
man of gallantry said, “ Well, if I was that lady, I’d never take 
any thing from a woman.” 

“ Why not, sir ?” 

“ Because I should be afraid of being poisoned for being so 
handsome.” 

“ Who is severe upon the ladies now said I. 

“ Why, really, ma’am, it was a slip of the tongue ; I did not 
intend to say such a thing ; but one can’t always be upon one’s 
guard.” 


212 


EVELINA. 


Soon after, the conversation turning upon public places, young 
Branghton asked if I had ever been to George's^ at Hamp- 
stead ! 

“ Indeed, I never heard the place mentioned.” 

“ Didn’t you, miss ?” cried he, eagerly ; “ Why, then, you’ve a 
deal of fun to come. I’ll promise you ; and I tell you what, I’ll 
treat you there some Sunday soon. So now. Bid and Poll, be 
sure you don’t tell miss about the chairs, and all that, for I’ve a 
mind to surprise her : and if I pay, I think I’ve a right to have 
it my own way.” 

“ George’s, at Hampstead !” repeated Mr. Smith, contemptu- 
ously ; “ how came you to think the young lady would like to go to 
such a low place as that ? But, pray, ma’am, have you ever 
been to Don Saltero’s, at Chelsea ?” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ No! — nay then, I must insist on having the pleasure of con- 
ducting you there before long. I assure you, ma’am, many gen- 
teel people go, or else, I give you my word, I should not recom- 
mend it.” 

“ Pray, cousin,” said Mr. Branghton, “ have you been at 
Sadler’s Wells yet?” 

“No, sir.” 

“ No ! why then you’ve seen nothing !” 

“ Pray, miss,” said the son, “ how do you like the Tower of 
London ?” 

“ I have never been to it, sir.” 

“ Goodness !” exclaimed he, “ not seen the Tower ! — why maybe 
you ha’n’t been o’ top of the Monument neither ?” 

“ No, indeed I have not.” 

“ Why, then, you might as well not have come to London for 
aught I see, for you’ve been nowhere.” 

“Pray, miss,” said Polly, “have you been all over Paul’s 
Church yet ?” 

“No, ma’am.” 

“ Well, but, ma’am,” said Mr. Smith, “how do you like Vaux- 
hall and Marybone?” 


EVELINA. 


213 


“ I never saw either, sir.” 

“No — God bless me! — you really surprise me. — Why, Vaux- 
hall is the first pleasure in life ! — I know nothing like it. — Well, 
ma’am, you must have been with strange people, indeed, not to 
have taken you to Vauxhall. Why, you have seen nothing of 
London yet. However, we must try if wt can’t make you 
amends.” 

In the course of this catechism many other places were men- 
tioned, of which I have forgotten the names ; but the looks of 
surprise and contempt that my repeated negatives incurred were 
very diverting. 

“ Come,” said Mr. Smith, after tea, “ as this lady has been with 
such a queer set of people, let’s show her the difference; suppose 
we go somewhere to-night 1 I love to do things with spirit ! — 
Come, ladies, where shall we go? For my part, I s^iould like 
Foote’s — but the ladies must choose ; I never speak myself.” 

“ Well, Mr. Smith is always in such spirits 1” said Miss 
Branghton. 

“ Why, yes, ma’am, yes, thank God, pretty good spirits ; — I 
have not yet the cares of the world upon me ; I am not married^ 
— ha, ha, ha I — you’ll excuse me ladies, — but I can’t help laugh- 
ing 1” 

No objection being made, to my great relief we all proceeded 
to the little theatre in the Haymarket, where I was extremely 
entertained by the performance of the Minor and the Commis- 
sary. 

They all returned hither to supper. 

LETTER XLV. 

Evelina in continucLtion. 

June 15. 

Yesterday morning Madame Duval again sent me to Mr. - 
Branghton’s, attended by M. du Bois, to make some party for 
the evening, because she had had the vapours the preceding 
day from staying at home. 


214 


EVELINA. 


As I entered the shop, I perceived the unfortunate North 
Briton seated in a corner, with a book in his hand. He cast his 
melancholy eyes up as we came in ; and, I believe, immediately 
recollected m3" face — for he started, and changed colour. I 
delivered Madame Duval’s message to Mr. Branghton, who told 
me I should find Polly up-stairs, but that the others were gone 
out. 

Up-stairs therefore I went ; and, seated at the window, with 
Mr. Brown at her side, sat Miss Polly. I felt a little awkward 
at disturbing them, and much more so at their behaviour after- 
ward ; for as soon as the common inquiries were over, Mr. Brown 
grew so fond and so foolish, that I was extremely disgusted. 
Polly, all the time, only rebuked him with, “ La, now, Mr. 
Brown, do be quiet, can’t you? — you should not behave so 
before company. — Why, now, what will miss think of me ?” — 
while her looks plainly showed not merely the pleasure, but the 
pride which she took in his caresses. 

I did not by any means think it necessary to punish myself by 
witnessing their tenderness ; and therefore telling them I would 
see if Miss Branghton were returned home, I soon left them, and 
again descended into the shop. 

“ So, miss, you’ve come again,” said Mr. Branghton ; “ what, 
I suppose, you’ve a mind to sit a little in the shop, and see how 
the world goes, hey, miss ?” 

I made no answer ; and M. du Bois instantly brought me a 
chair. 

The unhappy stranger, who had risen at my entrance, again 
seated himself; and, though his head leaned towards his book, I 
could not .help observing, his eyes were most intently and 
earnestly turned towards me. 

M. du Bois, as well as his broken English would allow him, 
endeavoured to entertain us till the return of Miss Branghton 
and her brother. 

“Lord, how tired I am!” cried the former; “I have not a 
foot to stand upon.” And then, without any ceremony, she 
flung herself into the chair from which I had risen to receive her. 


EVELINA. 


215 


“ You tired !” said the brother ; “ why then, what must I he, 
that have walked twice as far ?” And with equal politeness he 
paid the same compliment to M. du Bois which his sister had 
done to me. 

Two chairs and three stools completed the furniture of the 
shop ; and Mr. Branghton, who chose to keep his own seat him- 
self, desired M. du Bois to take another ; and then seeing that I 
was without any, called out to the stranger, “ Come, Mr. Macart- 
ney, lend us your stool.” 

Shocked at their rudeness, I declined the offer; and, approach- 
ing Miss Branghton, said, “ If you will be so good as to make 
room for me on your chair, there will be no occasion to disturb 
that gentleman.” 

“ Lord, what signifies that ?” cried the brother ; “ he has had 
his share of sitting, I’ll be sworn ” 

“ And if he has not,” said the sister, “he has a chair up-stairs; 
and the shop is our own, I hope.” 

This grossness so much disgusted me, that I took the stool, 
and carrying it back to Mr. Macartney myself, I returned him 
thanks as civilly as I could for his politeness, but said I had 
rather stand. . 

He looked at me as if unaccustomed to such attention, bowed 
very respectfully, but neither spoke nor yet made use of it. 

I soon found that I was an object of derision to all present ex- 
cept M. du Bois; and, therefore, I begged- Mr. Branghton would 
give me an answer for Madame Duval, as I was in haste to 
return. 

“Well then, Tom, — Biddy, where have you a mind to go 
to-night ? your aunt and miss want to be abroad and among them.” 

“ Why then, papa,” said Miss Branghton, “ we’ll go to Don 
Saltero’s. Mr. Smith likes that place, so maybe he’ll go along 
with us.” 

“ No, no,” said the son, “ I’m for White-Conduit House ; so 
let’s go there.” 

“ White-Conduit House, indeed !” cried his sister ; “ no, Tom, 
that I won’t.” 


216 


EVELINA. 


“ Why, then, let it alone ; nobody wants your company we 
shall do as well without you. I’ll be sworn, and better too.” 

“ ni tell you what, Tom, if you don’t hold your tongue, I’ll 
make you repent it, — that I assure you.” 

Just then Mr. Smith came into the shop, which he seemed to 
intend passing through *, but when he saw me, he stopped, and 
began a most courteous inquiry after my health, protesting that, 
had he known I was there, he should have come down sooner. 

“ But, bless me, ma’am,” added he, “ what is the reason you 
stand ?” and then he flew to bring me the seat from which I had 
just parted. 

“Mr. Smith, you are come in very good time,” said Mr. 
Branghton, “ to end a dispute between my son and daughter, 
about where they shall all go to-night.” 

“ 0 fy, Tom, — dispute with a lady!” cried Mr. Smith. “Now, 
as for me. I’m for where you will, provided this young lady is of 
the party ; — one place is the same as another to me, so that it be 
but agreeable to the ladies. — I would go anywhere with you 
ma’am (to me), unless, indeed, it were to church; — ha, ha, ha 1 

You’ll excuse me, ma’am ; but, really, I never could conquer 

my fear of a parson ha, ha, ha !— Really, ladies, I beg your 
pardon for being so rude ; but I can’t help laughing for my 
life !” 

“I was just saying, Mr. Smith,” said Miss Branghton, “ that I 
should like to jgo to Don Saltero’s ; — now, pray, where should 
you like to go ?” 

“ Why, really. Miss Biddy, you know I always let the ladies 
decide; I never fix any thing myself; but I should suppose it 
• to be rather hot at the coffee-house however, pray, ladies, 
settle it among yourselves; I’m agreeable to whatever you 
choose.” 

It was easy for me to discover that this man, with all his 
parade of conformity^ objects to every thing that is not proposed 
by himself: but he is so much admired by this family for his 
gentility^ that he thinks himself a complete fine gentleman 1 
“ Come,” said Mr. Branghton, “ the best way will be to put it 


EVELINA. 


217 


to the vote, and then, everybody will speak their minds. Biddy, 
call Poll down-stairs. We’ll start fair.” 

“ Lord, papa,” said Miss Branghton, “ why can’t you as well 
send Tom? — you’re always sending me of the errands.” 

A dispute then ensued, but Miss Branghton was obliged to 
yield. 

When Mr. Brown and Miss Polly made their appearance, the 
latter uttered many complaints of having been called, saying, 
she did not want to come, and was very well where she was. 

“ Now, ladies, your votes,” cried Mr. Smith ; “ and so, ma’am 
(to me), we’ll begin with you. What place shall you like best?” 
and then, in a whisper, he added, “ I assure you, I shall say the 
same as you do, whether I like it or not.” 

I said, that as I was ignorant what choice was in my power, I 
must beg to hear their decisions first. . This was reluctantly 
assente d to ; and then Miss Branghton voted for Saltero’s coflee- 
house ; her sister for a party to Mother Red Cap's ; the brother, 
for White-Conduit House ; Mr. Brown, for Bagnigge Wells ; Mr. 
Branghton, for Sadler’s Wells ; and Mr. Smith, for Vauxhall. 

“ Well now, ma’am,” said Mr. Smith, “ we have all spoken, 
and so you must give the casting vote. Come, what will you fix 
upon ?” 

“ Sir,” answered I, “ I was to speak last." 

“ Well, so you will,” said Miss Branghton, “ for we’ve all spoke 
first.” 

“ Pardon me,” returned I, “ the voting has not yet been quite 
general.” 

And I looked towards Mr. Macartney, to whom I wished 
extremely to show that I was not of the same brutal nature with 
those by whom he was treated so grossly. 

“ Why, pray,” said Mr. Branghton, “ who have we left out ? 
would you have the cats and dogs vote ?” 

“ No, sir,” cried I, with some spirit, “ T would have that gen- 
tleman vote, — if, indeed, he is not superior to joining our 
party.” 

They all looked at me, as if they doubted whether or not they 

10 


21S 


EVELINA. 


had heard me right: but in a few moments their surprise gave 
way to a rude burst of laughter. 

Very much displeased, I told M. du Bois that if he was not 
ready to go, I would have a coach called for myself 

“ 0 yes,” he said, “ he was always ready to attend me.” 

Mr. Smith, then advancing, attempted to take my hand and 
begged me not to leave them till I had settled the evening’s 
plan. 

“ I have nothing, sir,” said I, “ to do with it, as it is my inten- 
tion to stay at home ; and therefore Mr. Branghton will be so 
good as to send Madame Duval word what place is fixed upon, 
when it is convenient to him.” 

And then, making a slight courtesy, I left them. 

How much dpes my disgust for these people increase my pity 
for poor Mr. Macartney? I will not see them when I can avoid 
so doing ; but I am determined to take every opportunity in my 
power to show civility to this unhappy man, whose misfortunes, 
with this family, only render him an object of scorn. I was how- 
ever, very well pleased with M. du Bois, who far from joining in 
their mirth, expressed himself extremely shocked at their ill-breed- 
ing. 

We had not walked ten yards before we were followed by Mr. 
Smith, who came to make excuses, and to assure me they were 
onhj joking^ and hoped I took nothing ill ; for if I did, he would 
make a quarrel of it himself with the Branghtons, rather than T 
should receive any ofience. 

I begged him not to take any trouble about so immaterial an 
affair, and assured him I should not myself He was sooflScious, 
that he would not be prevailed upon to return home till he had 
walked with us to Mr. Dawkin’s. 

Mada ne Duval was very much displeased that I brought her 
so litt’e satisfaction. White-Conduit House was at last fixed 
upon ; and, notwithstanding my great dislike of such parties and 
such places, I was obliged to accompany them. 

Very disagreeable, and much according to my expectations, 
the evening proved. There were many people, all smart and gaudy, 


EVELINA. 


219 


and so pert and low-bred that I could hardly endure being among 
them ; but the party to which, unfortunately, I belonged, seemed 
all at home. 


LETTER XLVI. 
Evelina in continuation. 


Holborn, June 17. 

Yesterday Mr. Smith carried his point of making a party for 
Vauxhall, consisting of Madame Duval, M. du Bois, all the 
Branghtons, Mr. Brown, himself, — and me ! — for I find all endea- 
vours vain to escape any thing which these people desire I should 
not. 

There were twenty disputes previous to ouf setting out ; first, 
as to the time of our going : Mr. Branghton, his son, and young 
Brown were for six o’clock ; and all the ladies and Mr. Smith 
were for eight ; — the latter, however, conquered. 

Then, as to the way we should go ; some were for a boat, others 
for a coach, and Mr. Branghton himself was for walking ; but the 
boat at length was decided upon. Indeed, this was the only part 
of the expedition that was agreeable to me ; for the Thames was 
delightfully pleasant. 

The garden is very pretty, but too formal ; I should have 
been better pleased had it consisted less of straight walks, 
where 

Grove nods at grove, each alley has its brother. 


The trees, the numerous lights, and the company in the circle 
round the orchestra made a most brilliant and gay appearance ; 
and had I been with a party less disagreeable to me, I should 
have thought it a place formed for animation and pleasure. 
There was a concert; in the course of which a hautboy concerto 
was so charmingly played, that I could have thought myself upon 
enchanted ground had I had spirits more gentle to associate with. 
The hautboy in the open air is heavenly. 

Mr. Smith endeavoured to attach himself to me with such 


220 


EVELINA. 


officious assiduity and impertinent freedom, that he quite sickened 
me. Indeed, M. du Bois was the only man of the party to whom, 
voluntarily, I ever addressed myself. He is civil and respectful, 
and I have found nobody else so since I left Howard Grove. His 
English is very bad ; but I prefer it to speaking French myself, 
which I dare not venture to do. I converse with him frequently, 
both to disengage myself from others, and to oblige Madame 
Duval, who is always pleased when he is attended to. 

As we were walking about the orchestra, I heard a bell ring ; 
and, in a moment, Mr. Smith, flying up to me, caught my hand, 
and with a motion too quick to be resisted, ran away with me 
many yards before I had breath to ask his meaning, though I 
struggled, as well as I could, to get from him. At last, however 
I insisted upon stopping. “ Stopping, ma’am !” cried he, “ wh}’’, 
we must run on, or we shall lose the cascade !’' 

And then again he hurried me away, mixing with a crowd of 
people, all running with so much velocity, that I could not 
imagine what had raised such an alarm. We were soon followed 
by the rest of the party ; and my surprise and ignorance proved 
a source of diversion to them all, which was not exhausted the 
whole evening. Young Branghton, in particular, laughed till he 
could hardly stand. 

The scene of the cascade I thought extremely pretty, and the 
general effect striking and lively. 

But this was not the only surprise which was to divert them 
at my expense ; for they led me about the garden purposely to 
enjoy my first sight of various other deceptions. 

About ten o’clock, Mr. Smith having chosen a box in a very 
conspicuous place, we all went to supper. Much fault was found 
with every thing that was ordered, though not a morsel of anv 
thing was left ; and the dearness of the provisions, with conjec- 
tures upon what profit was made by them, supplied discourse 
during the whole meal. 

When wine and cider were brought, Mr. Smith said, “ Now 
let’s enjoy ourselves ; now is the time, or never. Well, ma’am, 
and how do you like Vauxhall ?” 


EVELINA. 


221 


“Like it !” cried young Branghton ; “why, how can she help 
liking it ? she has never seen such a place before, that I’ll answer 
for.” 

“ For my part,” said Miss Branghton, “ I like it because it is 
not vulgar.” 

“ This must have been a fine treat for you, miss,” said Mr. 
Branghton ; “ why, I suppose you was never so happy in all your 
life before ?” 

I endeavoured to express my satisfaction with some pleasure ; 
yet,. I believe, they were much amazed at my coldness. 

“ Miss ought to stay in town till the last night,” said young 
Branghton ; “ and then, it’s my belief, she’d say something to it ! 
Why, Lord, it’s the best night of any, there’s aHvays a riot, — and 
there the folks run about, — and then there’s such squealing and 
squalling ! — and there all the lamps are broke, — and the women 
run skimper-scamper. I declare I would not take five guineas 
to miss the last night !” 

I was very glad when they all grew tired of sitting, and called for 
the waiter to pay the bill. The Misses Branghtons said they 
would walk on while the gentlemen settled the account, and 
asked me to accompany them ; which, however, I declined. 

“You girls may do as you please,” said Madame Duval ; “but 
as to me, I promise you, I sha’n’t go nowhere without the gen- 
tlemen.” 

“No more, I suppose, will my cousin'' said Miss Branghton, 
looking reproachfully towards Mr. Smith. 

This reflection, which I feared would flatter his vanity, made 
me most unfortunately request Madame Duval’s permission to 
attend them. She granted it ; and away we went, having pro- 
mised to meet in the room. 

To the room, therefore, I would immediately have gone ; but 
the sisters agreed that they would first have a little ^pleasure ; 
and they tittered and talked so loud, that they attracted univer- 
sal notice. 

“Lord, Polly,” said the eldest, “suppose we were to take a 
turn in the dark walks !” 


222 


EVELINA. 


“ Ay, do,” answered she : “ and then we’ll hide ourselves, and 
then Mr. Brown will think we are lost.” 

I remonstrated very warmly against this plan, telling them 
it would endanger our missing the rest of the party all the 
evening. 

“ O dear,” cried Miss Branghton, “ I thought how uneasy miss 
would be without a beau !” 

This impertinence I did not think worth answering; and, 
quite by compulsion, I followed them down a long alley, in 
which there was hardly any light. 

By the time we came near the end, a large party of gentle- 
men, apparently very riotous, and who were hallooing, leaning 
on one another, ajid laughing immoderately, seemed to rush sud- 
denly from behind some trees, and, meeting us face to face, put 
their arms to their sides, and formed a kind of circle, which first 
stopped our proceeding, and then our retreating, for we were 
presently entirely enclosed. The Misses Branghton screamed 
aloud, and I was frightened exceedingly: our screams were 
answered with bursts of laughter, and for some minutes we were 
kept prisoners, till at last one of them, rudely seizing hold of me, 
said I was a pretty little creature. 

Terrified to death, I struggled with such vehemence to disen- 
gage myself from him that I succeeded, in spite of his efibrts to 
detain me ; and immediately, and with a swiftness which fear 
only could have given me, I flew rather than ran up the walk, 
hoping to secure my safety by returning to the lights and com- 
pany we had so foolishly left : but before I could possibly accom- 
plish my purpose, I was met by another party of men, one of 
whom placed himself so directly in my way, calling out, “ Whither 
so fast, my love ?” — that I could only have proceeded by running 
into his arms. 

In a moment both my hands, by different persons, were caught 
hold of, and one of them in a most familiar manner, desired, when 
I ran next, to accompany me in a race ; while the rest of the 
party stood still and laughed. 

I was almost distracted with terror, and so breathless with 


EVELINA. 


223 


running, that I could not speak ; another, advancing, said, I was 
as handsome as an angel, and desired to be of the party. I then 
just articulated, ‘‘For Heaven’s sake, gentlemen, let me pass.” 

Another, then rushing suddenly forward, exclaimed, “ Heaven 
and earth ! what voice is that ?” 

“ The voice of the prettiest little actrfess I have seen this age,” 
answered one of my persecutors. 

• “ No, — no, — no,” 1 panted out, “I am no actress — pray let me 

go, — pray let me pass !” 

“ By all that’s sacred,” cried the same voice, which I then 
knew for Sir Clement Willoughby’s, “’tis herself!” 

“ Sir Clement Willoughby 1” cried I. “ 0, sir, assist — assist 
me — or I shall die with terror 1” 

“ Gentlemen,” cried he, disengaging them all from me in an 
instant, “pray leave this lady to me.” 

Loud laughs proceeded from every mouth, and two or three 
said, Willoughby has all the luck. But one of them, in a pas- 
sionate manner, vowed he would not give me up, for that he 
had the first right to me, and would support it. 

“ You are mistaken,” said Sir Clement : “ this lady is — I will 
explain myself to you another time ; but I assure you, you are 
all mistaken.” 

And then, taking my willing hand, he led me off, amid the 
loud acclamations, laughter, and gross merriment of his imperti- 
nent companions. 

As soon as we had escaped from them. Sir Clement, with a 
, voice of surprise, exclaimed, “My dearest creature, what won- 
der, what strange revolution has brought you to such a spot as 
this?” 

Ashamed of my situation, and extremely mortified to be thus 
recognized by him, I was for some time silent; and when he 
repeated his question, only stammered out, “I have, I hardly 
know how, lost myself from my party.’’ 

He caught my hand, and eagerly pressing it, in a passionate 
voice said, “ 0 that I had sooner met with thee 1” 

Surprised at a freedom so unexpected, I angrily broke from 


224 


EVELINA. 


him, saying, “Is this the protection you give me. Sir Cle- 
ment ?” 

And then I saw, what the perturbation of my mind had pre- 
vented my sooner noticing, that he had led me, though I know 
not how, into another of the dark alleys, instead of the place 
whither I meant to go. 

“ Good God !” I cried, “ where am I ? — What way are you 
going?” 

“ Where,” answered he, “ we shall he least observed.” 

Astonished at this speech, I stopped short, and, declared I 
would go no farther. 

“Andrfwhy not, my angel?” again endeavouring to take my 
hand. 

My heart beat with resentment : I pushed him away from me 
with all my strength, and demanded how he dare treat me with 
such insolence. 

“ Insolence ?” repeated he. 

“ Yes, Sir Clement, insolence : from you, who know me, I had 
a claim for protection, — not to such treatment as this.” 

“By Heaven,” cried he, with warmth, “you distract me; — 
why, tell me — why do I see you here ? — Is this a place for Miss 
Anville ? — these dark walks ! — no party ! no companion ! — by all 
that’s good, I can scarce believe my senses !” 

Extremely offended at this speech, I turned angrily from 
him, and not deigning to make any answer, walked on towards 
that part of the garden whence I perceived the lights and com- 
pany. 

He followed me ; but we were both some time silent. 

“ So you will not explain to me your situation ?” said he, at 
length. 

“ No, sir,” answered I, disdainfully. 

“ Nor yet suffer me to make ray own interpretation ?” 

I could not bear this strange manner of speaking ; it made 
my very soul shudder, and I burst into tears. 

He flew to me, and actually flung himself at my feet, as if 
regardless who might see him, saying, “ O, Miss Anville, love- 


EVELINA. 


225 


liest of women, forgive my — my — I’ beseech you forgive me: if 
I have offended, if I have hurt you, I could kill myself at the 
thought !’’ 

“ No matter, sir, no matter ?” cried I ; “ if I can but find my 
friends, I will never speak to, never see you again !” 

“ Good God ! — good Heaven ! — my dearest life, what is it I 
have done ? what is it I have said ?” 

“You best know, sir, what and why : but don’t hold me here ; 
let me be gone ! and do you /” 

“ Not till you forgive me ! — I cannot part with you in anger.” 

“ For shame, for shame, sir !” cried I, indignantly : “ do you 
suppose I am to be thus compelled ? do you take advantage of 
the absence of my friends to affront me ?” 

“No, madam,” cried he, rising, “I would sooner forfeit my 
life than act so mean a part. But you have flung me into 
amazement unspeakable, and you will not condescend to listen 
to my request of giving me some explanation.” 

“ The manner, sir,” said I, “ in which you spoke that request 
made, and will make me scorn to answer it.” 

“ Scorn ! — I will own to you I expected not such displeasure 
from Miss Anville.” 

“Perhaps, sir, if you had, you would less voluntarily have 
merited it.” 

“My dearest life, surely it must be known to you that the 
man does not breathe who adores you so passionately, so fer- 
vently, so tenderly, as I do! — Why, then, will you delight in 
perplexing me ? — in keeping me in suspense ? — in torturing me 
with doubt?” 

“I, sir, delight in perplexing you! — you are much mistaken. 
Your suspense, your doubts, your perplexities, are of your own 
creating; and believe me, sir, they may offend, but they can 
never delight me : — but as you have yourself raised, you must 
yourself satisfy them.” 

“ Goo<i God ! that such haughtiness and such sweetness can 
inhabit the same mansion !” 

I made no answer, but quickening my pace, I walked on 
10 ^ 


226 


EVELINA. 


silently and sullenly, till this most impetuous of men, snatching 
my hand, which he grasped with violence, besought me to for- 
give him with such earnestness of siij^plication, that, merely to 
escape his importunities, I was forced to speak, and, in some 
measure, to grant the pardon he requested ; though it was 
accorded with a very ill grace ; but, indeed, I knew not how to 
resist the humility of his entreaties; yet never shall I recollect 
the occasion he gave me of displeasure without feeling it 
renewed. 

We now soon arrived in the midst of the general crowd : and, 
my own safety being then ensured, I grew extremely uneasy for 
the Misses Branghton, whose danger however imprudently in- 
curred by their own folly, I too well knew how to tremble for. 
To this consideration all my pride of heart yielded, and I deter- 
mined to seek my party with the utmost speed ; though not with- 
out a sigh did I recollect the fruitless attempt I had made after the 
opera, of concealing from this man my unfortunate connexions, 
which I was now obliged to make known. 

I hastened, therefore, to the room, with a view of sending 
young Branghton to the aid of hi-s sisters. In a very short time 
I perceived Madame Duval, and the rest, looking at one of . the 
paintings. 

I must own to you honestly, my dear sir, that an involuntary 
repugnance seized me at presenting such a set to Sir Clement 
— he who had been used to see me in parties so different ! — My 
pace slakened as I approached them, — but they presently per- 
ceived me. 

“ Ah^ mademoiselle cried M. du Bois, “ que je suis charmi ' 
de vous voirP’’ 

“ Pray, miss,” cried Mr. Brown, “ where’s Miss Polly ? 

“ Why, miss, you’ve been a long while gone,” said Mr. Brangh- 
ton ; “ we thought you’d been lost. But what have you done 
with your cousins ?” 

I hesitated, — for Sir Clement regarded me with a look of won- 
der. 

“ Pardiy^' cried Madame Duval, “ I sha’n’t let you leave mo 


EVELINA. 


22 T 


again in a hurry. Why here we’ve been in such a fright !— and 
all the while, I suppose, you’ve been thinking nothing about the 
matter.” 

“Well,” said young Branghton, “as long as miss is come 
back, I don’t mind : for as to Bid and Poll, they can take care 
of themselves. But the best joke is, Mr. Smith is gone all about 
looking for you.” 

These speeches were made almost all in a breath : but when, 
at last, they waited for an answer. I told them, that in walking 
up one of the long alleys, we had been frightened and sepa- 
rated. 

“The long alleys!” repeated Mr. Branghton, “and, pray,‘ 
what had you to do in the long alleys ? why, to be sure you 
must all of you have had a mind to be affronted !” 

This speech was not more impertinent to me than surprising 
to Sir Clement, who regarded all the party with evident aston- 
ishment. However, I told young Branghton no time ought to 
be lost, for that his sisters might require his immediate protec- 
tion. 

“ But how will they get it ?” cried this brutal brother ; “ if 
they’ve a mind to behave in such a manner as that, they ought 
to protect themselves ; and so they may for me.” 

“ Well,” said the simple Mr. Brown, “ whether you go or no, I 
think I may as well see after Miss Polly.” 

The father, then interfering, insisted that his son should accom- 
pany him ; and away they went. 

It was now that Madame Duval first perceived Sir Clement ; 
to whom, turning with a look of great displeasure, she angrily 
said, “ Ma foi^ so you are corned here, of all the people in the 
world 1 — I wonder, child, you would let such a — such a person as 
that keep company with you.” 

“ I am .very sorry, madam,” said Sir Clement, in a tone of sur- 
prise, “ if I have been so unfortunate as to offend jmu ; but I 
believe you will not regret the honour I now have of attending 
Miss Anville, when you hear that I have been so happy as to do 
her some service.” 


228 


EVELINA. 


Just as Madame Duval, with her usual ma foi^ was beginning 
to reply, the attention of Sir Clement was wholly drawn from her 
by the appearan6e of Mr. Smith, who, coming suddenly behind 
me, and freely putting his hands on my shoulders, cried, “ 0 ho, 
my little runaway, have I found you at last ? I have been scam- 
pering all over the gardens for you ; for I was determined to find 
you if you were above ground. — But how could you be so cruel 
as to leave us 

I turned round to him, and looked with a degree of contempt 
that I hoped would have quieted him ; but he had not the sense 
to understand me ; and attempting to take my hand, he added, 
*“ Such a demure looking lady as you are, who’d have thought of 
your leading one such a dance ? — Come, now, don’t be so coy ; 
only think what a trouble I have had in running after you 

“ The trouble, sir,” said I, “ was of your own choice — not 
mine.” And I walked round to the other side of Madame Duval. 

Perhaps I was too proud : but I could not endure that Sir 
Clement, whose eyes followed him with looks of the most sur- 
prised curiosity, should witness his unwelcome familiarity. 

Upon my removal, he came up to me, and in a low voice said, 
“ You are not, then, with the Mirvans ?” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ And pray — may I ask — have you left them long 

“No, sir.” 

“ How unfortunate I am ! — but yesterday I sent to acquaint 
the captain I should reach the Grove by to-morrow noon ! How- 
ever I shall get away as fast as possible. Shall you be long in 
town ?” 

“ I believe not, sir.” 

“ And then, when you leave it, — which way — will you allow 
me to ask, which way shall you travel ?” 

“ Indeed, I don’t know.” 

“ Not know ! — But do you return to the Mirvans any more ?” 

“ I — I can’t tell, sir.” 

And then I addressed myself to Madame Duval with such a 
pretended earnestness, that he was obliged to be silent. 


EVELINA. 


229 


As he cannot but observe the great change in my situation, 
which he knows not how to account for, there is something in 
all these questions, and this unrestrained curiosity, that I did not 
expect from a man who, when he pleases, can be so well-bred as 
Sir Clement Willoughby. He seems disposed to think that the 
alteration in my companions authorizes an alteration in his man- 
ners. It is true, he has always treated me with uncommon free- 
dom, but never before with so disrespectful an abruptness. This 
observation, which he has given me cause to make, of his chang- 
ing with the tide^ has sunk him more in my opinion than any 
other part of his conduct. 

Yet I could almost have laughed when I looked at Mr. Smith, 
who no sooner saw me addressed by Sir Clement, than, retreat- 
ing aloof from the company, he seemed to lose at once all his 
happy self-suflSciency and conceit; looking now at the baronet, 
now at himself ; surveying, with sorrowful eyes, his dress ; struck 
with his air, his gestures, his easy gayety, he gazed at him with 
envious admiration, and seemed himself, with conscious inferior- 
ity, to shrink into nothing. 

“ Soon after, Mr. Brown, running up to us called out^ “ La, 
what, ain’t Miss Polly come yet ?” 

“ Come,” said Mr. Branghton : “ Why, I thought you went to 
fetch her yourself, didn’t you ?” 

“Yes, but I couldn’t find her ; — yet I dare say I’ve been over 
half the garden,” 

“ Half? but why did not you go over it all ?” 

“ Why, so I will ; but only I thought I’d just come and see if 
she was here first.” 

“ But where’s Tom ?” 

“ Why, I don’t know ; for he would not stay with me all as 
ever I could say : for we met some young gentlemen of his 
acquaintance, and so he bid me go and look by myself; for he said, 
says he, I can divert myself better another way, says he.” 

This account being given, away again went this silly young 
man ; and Mr. Branghton, extremely incensed, said he would go 
and see after them himself. 


230 


EVELTNA. 


“ So, now,” cried Madame Duval, “ he’s gone too ! why at 
this rate, we shall have to wait for one or other of them all 
night !” 

“ Observing that Sir Clement seemed disposed to renew his 
inquiries, I turned towards one of the paintings, and, pretending 
to be very much occupied in looking at it, asked M. du Bois 
some questions concerning the figures, 

“ 0 mon Dieu P’ cried Madame Duval, “ don’t ask him ; your 
best way is to ask Mr. Smith,' for he’s been here the oftenest. 
Come, Mr. Smith, I dare say you can tell us all about them.” 

“ Why, yes, ma’am, yes,” said Mr. Smith : who, brightening 
up at this application, advanced towards us with an air of 
assumed importance, which, however, sat very uneasily upon him, 
and begged to know what he should explain first: “For I have 
attended,” said he, “ to all these paintings, and know every thing 
in them perfectly well ; for I am rather fond of pictures, ma’am ; 
and, really, I must say, I think a pretty picture is a — a very — is 
really a very — is something very pretty ” 

“ So do I too,” said Madame Duval ; “ but pray now, sir, tell 
us who that is meant for ?” pointing to a figure of Neptune. 

“ That ! — why, that, ma’am, is, — Lord bless me, I can’t think 
how I come to be so stupid ; but really I have forgot his name ; 
— and yet T know it as well as my own too : — however, he’s a 
general, ma’am ; they are all generals,” 

I saw Sir Clement bite his lips : and, indeed, so did I mine. 

“ Well,” said Madame Duval, “ it’s the oddest dress for a gen- 
eral ever I see !” 

“He seems so capital a figure,” said Sir Clement to Mr. 
Smith, “ that 1 imagine he must be generalissimo of the whole 
army.” 

“ Yes, sir, yes,” answered Mr. Smith, respectfully bowing, and 
highly delighted ^t being thus referred to, “ you are perfectly 
right : — but I cannot for my life think of his name ; perhaps, 
sir, you may remember it ?” 

“No, really,” replied Sir Clement, “my acquaintance among 
the generals is not so extensive.” 


EVELINA. 


231 


' The ironical tone of voice in which Sir Clement spoke entirely 
disconcerted Mr. Smith ; who again retiring to an humble dis- 
tance, seemed sensibly mortified at the failure of his attempt to 
recover his consequence. 

Soon after, Mr. Branghton returned with his youngest daugh- 
ter, whom he had rescued from a party of insolent young men ; 
but he had not yet been able to find the eldest. Miss Polly was 
really frightened, and declared she would never go into the dark 
walks again. Her father, leaving her with us, went in quest of 
her sister. 

While she was relating her adventures, to which nobody 
listened more attentively than Sir Clement, we saw Mr. Brown 
enter the room. “Ola !” cried Miss Polly, “ let me hide myself, 
and don’t tell him I’m come.” 

She then placed herself behind Madame Duval in such a man- 
ner that she could not be seen. 

“ So Miss Polly is not come yet ?” said the simple swain ; 
“ well, I can’t think where she can be ! I’ve been a-looking, and 
looking, and looking all about, and can’t find her, all I can do.” 

“Well, but, Mr. Brown,” said Mr. Smith, “ sha’n’t you go and 
look for the lady again ?” 

“Yes, sir,” said he, sitting down ; “but I must rest me a little 
bit first. You can’t think how' tired I am.” 

“ 0 fy, Mr. Brown, fy,” cried Mr. Smith, winking at us; “ tired 
of looking for a lady ! Go, go, for shame !” 

“ So I will, sir, presently ; but you’d be tired too, if you had 
walked so far ; besides, I think she’s gone out of the garden, or 
else I must have seen something or other of her.” 

A he^ ke^ he ! of the tittering Polly now betrayed her, and so 
ended this ingenious little artifice. 

At last appeared Mr. Branghton and Miss Biddy, who, with a 
face of mixed anger and confusion, addressing herself to me, 
said, “So, Miss, so you ran away from me? Well, see if I don’t 
do as much by you some day or other ! But I thought how it 
would be; you’d no mind to leave the gentlemen^ though you 
ran away from me.” 


232 


EVELINA. 


I. was so much surprised at this attack, that I could not 
answer her for very amazement ; and she proceeded to tell us 
how ill she had been used, and that two young men had been 
making her walk up and down the dark walks by absolute force, 
•and as fast as ever they could tear her along ; and many other par- 
ticulars, which I will not tire you with relating. In conclusion, 
looking at Mr. Smith, she said, “ But, to be sure, thought I, at 
least all the company will be looking for me ; so I little expected 
to find you all here, talking as comfortably as ever you can. 
However, I know I may thank my cousin for it.” 

“ If you mean me, madam,” said I, v.ery much shocked, “ I 
am quite ignorant in what manner I can have been accessory to 
your distress.” 

“ Why, by running away so. If you’d staid with us. I’ll 
answer for it. Mi*. Smith and M. du Bois would have come 
to look for us ; but I suppose they could not leave your lady- 
ship.” 

The folly and unreasonableness of this speech would admit of 
no answer. But what a scene was this for Sir Clement ! His 
surprise was evident; and I must acknowledge my confusion 
was equally great. 

We had now to wait for young Brangh ton, who did not appear 
for some time ; and during this interval it was with difficulty that 
I avoided Sir Clement, who was on the rack of curiosity, and 
dying to speak to me. 

When, at last, the hopeful youth returned, a long and frightful 
quarrel ensued between him and his father, in which his sisters 
occasionally joined, concerning his neglect ; and he defended 
himself only by a brutal mirth, which he indulged at their ex- 
pense. 

Every one now seemed inclined to depart — when, as usual, a 
dispute arose upon the way of our going, whether in a coach or 
a boat. After much debating, it was determined that we should 
make two parties, one by the water and the other by land ; for 
Madame Duval declared she would not, upon any account, go 
into a boat at night. 


EVELINA. 


233 


Sir Clement then said, “ that if she had no carriage in waiting, 
he should be happy to see her and me safe home, as his was in 
readiness.” 

Fury started into her eyes, and passion inflamed every feature, 
as she answered, “ Pardi^ no — you may take care of yourself, if 
you please ; hut as for me, I promise you I sha’n’t trust myself 
with no such person.” 

He pretended not to comprehend her meaning ; yet to waive 
a discussion, acquiesced in her refusal. The coach-party fixed 
upon consisted of Madame Duval, M. du Bois, Miss Branghton, 
and myself. 

I now began to rejoice, in private, that at least our lodgings 
would be neither seen nor known by *Sir Clement. We soon 
met with a hackney-coach, into which he handed me, and then 
took leave. 

Madame Duval having already given the coachman her direc- 
tion, he mounted the box, and we were just driving off, when 
Sir Clement exclaimed, “ By Heaven, this is the very coach I 
had in waiting for myself.” 

“ This coach, your honour !” said the man ; “ no, that it 
ain’t.” 

Sir Clement, however, swore that it was ; and presently the 
man, begging his pardon, said he had really forgotten that he 
was engaged. 

I have no doubt but that this scheme occurred to him at the 
moment, and that he made some sign to the coachman, which 
induced him to support it : for there is not the least probability 
that the accident really happened, as it is most likely his own 
chariot was in waiting. 

The man then opened the coach-door, and Sir Clement, 
advancing to it, said, “ I don’t believe there is another carriage 
to be had, or I would not incommode you ; but as it may bo 
disagreeable to you to wait here any longer, I beg you will not 
get out, for you shall be set down before I am carried home, if 
you will be so good as to make a little room.” 

And so saying, in he jumped, and seated himself between M. 


EVELINA. 


23tt 

du Bois and me, while our astonishment at the whole transac- 
tion was too great for speech. He then ordered the coach- 
man to drive on, according to the directions he had already 
received. 

For the first ten minutes no one uttered a word ; and then, 
Madame Duval, no longer able to contain herself, exclaimed, 
“ Ma foi^ if this isn’t one of the most impudentest things ever I 
see 1” 

Sir Clement, regardless of this rebuke, attended only to me ; 
however, I answered nothing he said when I could possibly avoid 
so doing. Miss Branghtou made several attempts to attract his 
notice, but in vain, for he would not take the trouble of paying 
her any regard. 

Madame Duval, during the rest of the ride, addressed herself 
to M. du Bois in French, and in that language exclaimed, with 
great vehemence, against boldness and assurance. 

I was extremely glad when I thought our journey must be 
nearly at an end, for my situation was very uneasy to me, as Sir 
Clement perpetually endeavoured to take my hand. I looked 
out of the coach-window to see if we were near home : Sir Cle- 
ment, stooping over me, did the same ; and then, in a voice of 
infinite wonder, called out, “ Where the d — 1 is the man driving 
to ? — Why, we are in Broad St. Giles’s !” 

“ 0, he’s very right,” cried Madame Duval ; “ so never trouble 
your head about that ; for I sha’n’t go by no directions of yours, 
I promise you.” 

When at last we stopped at a hosier's in High-Holhorn, Sir Cle- 
ment said nothing, but his eyes^ I saw, were very busily employed 
in viewing the place and the situation of the house. The coach, 
he said, belonged to him, and therefore he insisted upon paying 
for it ; and then he took leave. M. du Bois walked home with 
Miss Branghton, and Madame Duval and I retired to our apart- 
ments. 

How disagreeable an evening’s adventure ! Not one of the 
party seemed satisfied except Sir Clement, who was in high 
spirits : but Madame Duval was enraged at meeting with him ; 


EVELINA. 


235 


Mr. Branghton, angry , with his children ; the frolic of the Misses 
Branghton had exceeded their plan, and ended in their own 
distress ; their brother was provoked that there had been no 
riot ; Mr. Brown was tired, and Mr. Smith mortified. As to 
myself, I must acknowledge, nothing could be more disagreeable 
to me than being seen by Sir Clement Willoughby with a party 
at once so vulgar in themselves and so familiar to me. 

And you, too, my dear sir, will, I know, be sorry that I have 
met him ; however, there is no apprehension of his visiting here, 
as Madame Duval is far too angry to admit him. 


LETTER XLII. 

Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 


Holborn, June 18. 

Madame Duval rose very late this morning, and, at one o’clock 
we had but just breakfasted, when Miss Branghton, her brother, 
Mr. Smith, and Monsieur du Bois, called to enquire after our 
healths. 

This civility in young Branghton, I must suspect, was merely 
the result of his father’s commands ; but his sister and Mr. Smith 
I soon found had motives of their own. Scarce had they spo- 
ken to Madame Duval, when advancing eagerly to me, “ Pray, 
ma’am,” said Mr. Smith, “ Who was that gentleman ?” 

“ Pray, cousin,” cried Miss Branghton, “ was not he the same 
gentleman you ran away with that night at the opera ?” 

“ Goodness ! that he was,” said young Brapghton ; “ and I 
declare, as soon as ever I saw him, I thought I knew his 
face.” 

“ I’m sure I’ll defy you to forget him,” answered his sister, 
“ if once you had seen him : he is the finest gentleman I ever 
saw in my life ; don’t you think so Mr. Smith ?” 

“ Why, you won’t give the lady time to speak,” said Mr. Smith. 
— “ Pray, ma’am, what is the gentleman’s name ?” 

“ Willoughby, sir.” 


236 


EVELINA. 


“ Willoughby ! I think I have heard the name. Pray ma’am 
is he married ?” 

“ Lord, no, that he is not,” cried Miss Branghton ; “ he looks 
too smart by a great deal for a married man. Pray, cousin, how 
did you get acquainted with him 

“Pray, miss,” said young Branghton, in the same breath, 
“ what’s his business ?” 

“ Indeed I don’t know,” answered I. 

“ Something very genteel, I dare say,” added Miss Branghton, 
“ because he dresses so fine.” 

“ It ought to be something that brings in a good income,” sai'd 
Mr. Smith ; “for I arn sure he did not get that suit of clothes he 
had on under thirty pounds ; for I know the price of clothes 
pretty well. Pray, ma’am, can you tell me what he has a year ?” 

“ Don’t talk no more about him,” cried Madame Duval, “ for 
I don’t like to hear his name : I believe he’s one of the worst 
persons in the world ; for though I never did him no manner of 
harm, not so much as hurt a hair of his head, I know he was an 
accomplice with that fellow. Captain Mirvan, to take away my life.” 

Every body but myself now crowding around her for an ex- 
planation, a violent rapping at the street-door was unheard ; and 
without any previous notice, in the midst of her narration, Sir 
Clement Willoughby entered the room. They all started ; and 
with looks of guilty confusion, as if they feared his resentment 
for having listened to Madame Duval, they scrambled for chairs 
and in a moment were all formally seated. 

Sir Clement, after a general bow, singling out Madame Duval, 
said, with his usual easiness, “ I have done myself the honour of 
waiting on you, madam, to enquire if you have any commands 
to Howard Grove, whither I am going to-morrow morning.” 

Then seeing the storm that gathered in her eyes, before he 
allowed her time to answer, he addressed himself to me ; — and 
if you, madam, have any with which you will honour me, I shall 
be happy to execute them.” 

“ None at all, sir.” 

“ None ! not to Miss Mirvan ! no message ! no letter !” 


EVELINA. 


237 


“ I wrote to Miss Mirvan yesterday by tbe post.” 

' “ My application should have been earlier had I sooner known 
your address.” 

“ Ma foi'' cried Madame Duval, recovering from her surprise, 
“ I believe never nobody saw the like of this !” 

“ Of what, madam ?” cried the undaunted Sir Clement, turning 
quick towards her ; “ I hope no one has offended you !” 

“ You don’t hope no such a thing !” cried she, half-choked 
with passion, and rising from her chair. This motion was fol- 
lowed by the rest and in a moment everybody stood up. 

Still Sir Clement was not abashed ; affecting to make a bow 
of acknowledgment to the company in general, he said, “ Pray — 
I beg — ladies, — gentlemen, — pray don’t let me disturb you, pray 
keep your seats.” 

“ Pray, sir,” said Miss Branghton, moving a chair towards him 
“ won’t you sit down yourself ?” 

“ You are extremely good, ma’am : rather than make any dis- 
turbance ” 

And so saying this strange man seated himself, as did in an 
instant everybody else, even Madame Duval herself, who, over- 
powered by his boldness, seemed too full for utterance. 

He then, with as much composure as if he had been an expected 
guest, began to discourse on the weather, — its uncertainty, — the 
heat of the public places in summer, the emptiness of the town, 
— and other such common topics. 

Nobody however answered him ; Mr. Smith seemed afraid, 
young Branghton ashamed, M. du Bois amazed, Madame Duval 
enraged, and myself determined not to interfere. All that he 
could obtain was the notice of Miss Branghton, whose nods, 
smiles, and attention had some appearance of entering into con- 
versation with him. 

At length, growing tired, I suppose, of engaging everybody’s 
eyes, and nobody’s tongue, addressing himself to Madame Duval 
and to me, he said, “ I regard myself as peculiarly unfortunate, 
ladies, in having fixed upon a time for my visit to Howard 
Grove when you are absent from it.” 


238 


EVELINA. 


“ So I suppose, sir, so I suppose,” cried Madame Duval, hastily- 
rising, and the next moment as hastily seating herself ; “ you 
will be wanting of somebody to make your game of, and so you 
may think to get me there again ; but I promise you, sir, you 
won’t find it so easy a matter to make me a fool ; and besides 
that,” raising her voice, “I’ve found you out, I assure you : so if 
ever you go to play your tricks upon me again, I’ll make no more 
ado, but go directly to a justice of peace : so sir, if you can’t 
think of nothing but making people ride about the country at all 
hours of the night just for your diversion, why you’ll find I know 
some justices as well as Justice Tyrrell.” 

Sir Clement was evidently embarrassed at this attack ; yet 
he affected a look of surprise, and protested he did not under- 
stand her meaning. 

“Well,” cried she, “if I don’t wonder where people can get 
such impudence ! if you’ll say that, you’ll say anything ; however, 
if you swear till you’re black in the face, I sha’n’t believe you ; 
for nobody sha’n’t persuade me out of my senses, that I’m re- 
solved.” 

“ Doubtless not, madam,” answered he, with some hesitation ; 
“ and I hope you do not suspect I ever had such an intention ; 
my respect for you ” ' 

“ 0, sir, 3 ’ou’re vastly polite all of a sudden ! but I know what 
it’s all for ! it’s only for what you can get ! You could treat me 
like nobody at Howard ’Grove ; but now you see I’ve a house of 
my own, you’ve a mind to wheedle yourself into it ; but I sees 
your design, so you needn’t trouble yourself to take no more trou- 
ble about that, for you shall never get nothing at iny house, — 
not so much as a dish of tea : — so now, sir, you see I can play 
you trick for trick.” 

There was something so extremely gross in this speech, that it 
even disconcerted Sir Clement, who was too much confounded to 
make any answer. 

It was curious to observe the effect which his embarrasraent, 
added to the freedom with which Madame Duval addressed him, 
had upon the rest of the company. Every one who before seemed 


EVELINA. 


239 


at a loss how or if at all, to occupy a chair, now filled it with the 
most easy composure : and Mr. Smith, whose countenance had 
exhibited the most striking picture of mortified envy, now began 
to recover his usual expression of satisfied conceit. Young 
Branghton, too who had been apparently awed by the presence 
of so fine a gentleman, was again himself, rude and familiar ; 
while his mouth was wide distended into a broad grin, at hear- 
ing his aunt give the beau such a trimming. 

Madame Duval, encouraged by this success, looked around her 
with an air of triumph, and continued her harangue. “ And so, 
sir, I suppose you thought to have had it all your own way, and 
to have corned here as often as you pleased, and to have got me 
to Howard Grove again, on purpose to have served me as you did 
before ; but you shall see I’m as cunning as you ; so you may 
go and find somebody else to use in that manner, and to put 
your mask on, and to make a fool of ; for as to me, if you go to 
tell me your stories about the Tower again, for a month together, 
I’ll never believe ’em no more : and I’ll promise you, sir, if you 
think I like such jokes, you’ll find I’m no such person.” 

“ I assure you, ma’am — upon my honour, — I really don’t com- 
prehend — I fancy there is some misunderstanding ” 

“ What, I suppose you’ll tell me next you don’t know nothing 
of the matter ?” 

“Not a word, upon my honour.” 

O, Sir Clement, thought I, is it thus you prize your honour ! 

“ Pardi'' cried Madame Duval, “ this is the most provokingest 
part of all ! why, you might as well tell me I don’t know my 
own name.” 

“ Here is certainly some mistake ; for I assure you, ma’am — ” 

“ Don’t assure me nothing,” cried Madame Duval, raising her 
voice : “ I know what I’m saying, and so do you, too ; for did 
not you tell me all that about the Tower, and about M. du Bois? 
— why, M. du Bois wasn’t never there, nor nigh it, and so it was 
all your own invention.” 

“ May there not be two persons of the same name ! the mis- 
take was but natural — ” 


240 


EVELINA. 


“ Don’t tell me of no mistake, for it was all on purpose ; 
besides, did not you come, all in a mask, to the chariot-door, and 
help to get me put in that ditch ? I’ll promise you I’ve had the 
greatest mind in the world to take the law of you ever since ; 
and if ever you do as much again, so I will, I assure you.” 

Here Miss Branghton tittered, Mr. Smith smiled contemptu- 
ously, and young Branghton thrust his handkerchief into his 
mouth to stop his laughter. 

The situation of Sir Clement, who saw all that passed, became 
now very awkward even to himself, and he stammered very 
much in saying, “ Surely, madam — surely you — you cannot do 
me the — the injustice to think — that I had any share in the — 
the — the misfortune which — ” 

“ Ma foi^ sir,” cried Madame Duval, with increasing passion, 
“ you’d best not stand talking to me at that rate : I know it was 
you ; and if you stay there, a-provoking me in such a manner, 
I’ll send for a constable this minute.” 

Young Branghton, at these words, in spite of all his efforts, 
burst into a loud laugh ; nor could either his sister or Mr. 
Smith, though with mo're moderation, forbear joining in his 
mirth. 

Sir Clement darted his eyes towards them with looks of the 
most angry contempt; and then told Madame Duval that he 
would not now detain her to make his vindication, but would 
wait on her some time when she was alone. 

“ 0, pardi, sir,” cried she, “ I don’t desire none of your com- 
pany ; and if you wasn’t the most boldest person in the world, 
you would not dare look me in the face.” 

The ha, ha, ha’s ! and he, he, he’s ! grew more and more 
uncontrollable, as if the restraint from which they had burst had 
added to their violence. Sir Clement could no longer endure 
being the object who excited them, and having no ansWer readv 
for Madame Duval, he hastily stalked towards Mr. Smith and 
young Branghton, and sternly demanded what they laughed at. 

Struck by the air of importance which he assumed, and 
alarmed at the angry tone of his voice, their merriment ceased 


EVELINA. 


241 . 


as instantaneously as if it had been directed by clock-work ; and 
they stared foolishly, now at him, now at each other, without 
making any answer but a simple “ Nothing^ sir.” 

“ O, "pour le coup^' cried Madame Duval, “ this is too much ! 
Pray, sir, what business have you to come here a-ordering people 
that comes to see me ? I suppose next nobody must laugh but 
yourself !” 

“ With me, madam,” said Sir Clement, bowing, “ a lady may 
do any thing, and consequently there is no liberty in which I 
shall not be happy to indulge you; — but it has never been my 
custom to give the same license to gentlemen^ 

Then advancing to me, who had sat very quietly at a window 
during this scene, he said, “ Miss Anville, I may at least acquaint 
our friends at Howard Grove that I had the honour of leaving 
you in good health.” And then, lowering his voice, he added, 

“For Heaven’s sake, my dearest creature, who are these 
people ? and how came you so strangely situated ?” 

“ I beg my respects to all the family, sir,” answered I, aloud ; 
“ and I hope you will find them well.” 

He looked at me reproachfully, but kissed my hand; and 
then, bowing to Madame Duval and Miss Branghton, passed 
hastily by the men, and made his exit. 

I fancy he will not be very eager to repeat his visit ; for I 
should imagine he has rarely, if ever, been before in a situation 
so awkward and disagreeable. 

Madame Duval has been all spirits and exultation ever since 
he went, and only wishes Captain Mirvan would call, that she 
might do the same by him. Mr. Smith, upon hearing that he 
was a baronet, and seeing him drive off in a very beautiful 
chariot, declared that he would not have laughed upon any 
account had he known his rank ; and regretted extremely hav- 
ing missed such an opportunity of making so genteel an acquain- 
tance. Young Branghton vowed, that if he had known as much, 
he would have asked for his custom; and his sister has sung his 
praises ever since, protesting she thought all along he was a 
man of quality by his look. 


11 


242 


EVELINA. 


LETTER XLIX. 

Evelina in continuation. 

June 21. 

The last three evenings have passed tolerably quiet, for the 
Vauxhall adventures had given Madame Duval a surfeit of public 
places ; home, however, soon growing tiresome, she determined 
to-night, she said, to relieve her ennui by some amusement; and 
it was therefore settled that we should call upon the Branghtons 
at their house, and thence proceed to Marybone Gardens. 

But before we reached Snow-Hill we were caught in a shower 
of rain ; we hurried into the shop, where the first object I saw 
was Mr. Macartney, with a book in his hand, seated in the same 
corner whhere‘1 saw him last; but his looks were still more 
wretcned than before, his face yet thinner, and his* eyes sunk 
almost hollow into his head. He lifted them up as we entered, 
and I even thought that they emitted a gleam of joy ; involun- 
tarily 1 made to him my first courtesy ; he rose and bowed with 
a .precipitation that manifested surprise and confusion. 

Jn a few minutes we were joined by all the family, except Mr. 
Smith, who fortunately was engaged. 

Had all the future prosperity of our lives depended upon the 
good or bad weather of this evening, it could not have been 
treated as a subject of greater importance. “ Sure never any 
thing was so unlucky !” — “ Lord, how provoking !” — “ It might 
rain for ever if it would hold up now.” These, and such expres- 
sions, with many anxious observations upon the kennels, filled up 
all the conversation till the shower was over. 

And then a very warm debate arose, whether we should pur-^ 
sue our plan, or defer it to some finer evening. The Misses 
Brangiiton were for the former ; their father was sure it would 
rain again ; Madame Duval, though she detested returning home, 
yet dreaded the dampness of the gardens. 

M. du Bois then proposed going to the top of the house to ex- 
amine whether the clouds looked threatening or peaceable ; Miss 


EVELINA. 


243 


Branghton, starting at this proposal, said they might go to Mr. 
Macartney’s room, if they would, but not to hers. 

This was enough for the brother; who, with a loud laugh, 
declared he would have some fun : and immediately led the 
way, calling to us all to follow. His sisters both ran after, but 
no one else moved. 

In a few minutes young Branghton, coming half-way down- 
stairs, called out, “ Lord, why don’t you all come ? why, here’s 
Poll’s things all about the room !” 

Mr. Branghton then went ; and Madame Duval, who cannot 
bear to be excluded from whatever is going forward, was handed 
up-stairs by M. du Bois. 

I hesitated a few moments whether or not to join them ; but 
soon perceiving- that Mr. Macartney had dropped his booh, and 
that I engrossed his whole attention, I prepared, from mere 
embarrassment, to follow them. 

As I went, I heard him move from his chair, and walk slowly 
after me. Believing that he wished to speak to me, and earnest- 
ly desiring myself to know if, by your means, I could possibly be 
of -any service to him, I first slackened my pace, and then turned 
back. But though I thus met him half-way, he seemed to want 
courage or resolution to address me ; for, when he saw me 
returning, with a look extremely disordered he retreated hastily 
from me. 

Not knowing what I ought to do, I went to the street-door 
where I stood some time, hoping he would be able to recover 
himself; but, on the contrary, his agitation increased every 
moment; he walked up and down the room in a quick but 
unsteady pace, seeming equally distressed and irresolute ; and at 
length, with a deep sigh, he flung himself into a chair. 

I was so much affected by the appearance of such extreme 
anguish, that I could remain no longer in the room, I therefore 
glided by him and went up-stairs ; but ere I had gone five steps, 
he precipitately followed me, and, in a broken voice, called out 
“ Madam ! — for Heaven’s sake — ” 

He stopped ; but I instantly descended, restraining as well as 


2U 


EVELINA. 


J was able, the fulness of own concern. I waited some time, in 
jpainful expectation, for liis speaking ; all that I had heard of his 
poverty occurring to me, I was upon the point of presenting him 
my purse ; but the fear of mistaking or offending him deterred 
me. Finding, however, that he continued silent, I ventured to 
say, “ Did you, sir, wish to speak to me 

“ I did,” cried he, with quickness, “ but now — I cannot !” 

“ Perhaps, sir, another time, — perhaps if you recollect your- 
self ” 

“ Another time !” repeated he mournfully ; “ alas ! I look not 
forward but to misery and despair !” 

“ O sir,” cried I, extremely shocked, “ you must not talk thus ! 
— If your forsake yourself how can you expect ” 

I stopped. “ Tell me, tell me,” cried he, with eagerness, “ who 
you are ? — whence you come ? — and by what strange means you 
seem to be arbi tress and ruler of the destiny of such a wretch as 
lam?” 

Would to heaven,” cried T, “ I could serve you !” 

“ You can !” 

“ And how ? Pray tell me how ?” 

“ To tell you — is death to me ! yet I will tell you, — I have a 
right to your assistance, — you have deprived me of the only 
resource to which I could apply, — and therefore ” 

“ Pray,, pray speak,” cried I, putting my hand into my pocket ; 
“ they will be down-stairs in a moment !” 

“ I will, madam. Can you — will you — I think you will ! — 

may I then .” He stopped and paused ; ‘‘ say, will you” — 

Then suddenly turnir\g from me, “Great Heaven, I cannot 
speak !” and he went back to the shop. 

I now put my purse in my hand, and following him said, “ If, 
indeed, sir, I can assist you, why should you deny me so great a 
satisfaction ? Will }ou permit me to ” 

I dare not go on ; but with a countenance very much softened, 
he approached me, and said, “ Your voice, madam, is the voice of 
compassion — such a voice as t’lese eais have long bfeen strangers 
to !” 


EVELINA. 


245 


Just then young Brangliton called out vehemently to me to 
come up-stairs. I seized the opportunity of hastening away : 
and therefore saying, “ Heaven, sir, protect and comfort you !” I 
let fall my purse upon the ground, not daring to present it to him, 
and ran up stairs with the utmost swiftness. 

Too well do I know you, my ever honoured sir, to fear your 
displeasure for this action ; I must, however, assure you I shall 
need no fresh supply during my stay in town, as I am at little 
expense, and hope soon to return to Howard Grove. 

Soon, did I say ! when not a fortnight is yet expired of the long 
and tedious month I must linger out here ! 

I had many witticisms to endure from the Branghtons, upon 
account of my staying so long with the Scotish mope^ as they call 
him ; but I attended to them very little, for my whole heart was 
filled with pity and concern. I was very glad to find the Mary- 
bone scheme was deferred, another shower of rain having put a 
stop to the dissension upon this subject. The rest of the even- 
ing was employed in most violent quarrelling between Miss Polly 
and her brother, on account of the discovery made by the latter 
of the state of her apartment. 

We came home early : and I have stolen from Madame Duval 
and M. du Bois, who is here for ever, to write to my best friend. 

I am most sincerely rejoiced that this opportunity has offered 
for my contributing what little relief was in my power to this 
unhappy man ; and I hope it will be sufficient to enable him to 
pay his debts to this pitiless family. 


LETTER L. 

Mr. Villars to Evelina, 


Berry Hill. 

Dispeasure, my Evelina !— you have but done your duty : you 
have but shown that humanity without which I should blush to 
own my child. It is mine, however, to see that your generosity 
be not repressed by your suffering from indulging it ; I remit to 


246 


EVELINA. 


you, therefore, not merely a token of my approbation, but an 
acknowledgment of my desire to participate in your charity. 

O my child, were my fortune equal to my confidence in thy 
benevolence, with what transport should I, through thy means, 
devote it to the relief of indigent virtue ! Yet let us not repine at 
the limitation of our power : for while our bounty is propor- 
tioned to our ability, the difference of the greater or less dona- 
tion can weigh but little in the scale of justice. 

In reading your account of the misguided man whose misery 
has so largely excited your compassion, I am led to apprehend 
that this unhappy situation is less the effect of misfortune than 
of misconduct. If he is reduced to that state of poverty 
represented by the Branghtons, he should endeavor, by activity 
and industry, to retrieve his affairs, and not pass his time in idle 
reading in the very shop of his creditor. 

The pistol scene made me shudder ; the courage with which 
you pursued this desperate man at once delighted and terrified 
me. Be ever thus, my dearest Evelina, dauntless in the cause of 
distress ! let no weak fears, no timid doubts, deter you from the 
exertion of your duty according to the fullest sense of it that 
Nature has implanted in your mind. Though gentleness and 
modesty are the peculiar attributes of your sex, yet fortitude and 
firmness, when occasion demands them, are virtues as noble 
and as becoming in women as in men : the right line of conduct 
is the same for both sexes, though the manner in which it is pur- 
sued may somewhat vary, and be accommodated to the strength 
or weakness of the different travellers. 

There is, however, something so mysterious in all you have 
seen or heard of this wretched man, that I am unwilling to stamp 
a bad impression of his character upon so slight and partial a 
knowledge of it. Where any thing is doubtful, the ties of society 
aud the laws of humanity claim a favourable interpretation ; but 
remember, my dear child, that those of discretion have an equal 
claim to your regard. 

As to Sir Clement Willoughby, I know not how to express my 
indignation at his conduct. Insolence so insufferable, and the 


EVELINA. 


24:7 


implication of suspicion so shocking, irritate me to a degree of 
wrath which I hardly thought my almost worn-out passions were 
again capable of experiencing. You must converse with him no 
- more : he imagines, from the pliability of your temper, that he 
may offend you with impunity ; but his behaviour justifies, nay, 
calls for your avowed resentment ; do not therefore hesitate iu 
forbiddirg him your sight. 

The Branghtons, Mr. Smith, and young Brown, however ill- 
bred and disagreeable, are objects too contemptible for serious 
displeasure. Yet I grieve much that my Evelina should be 
exposed to their rudeness and impertinence. 

The very day that this tedious month expires, I shall send Mrs. 
Clinton to town, who will accompany you to Howard Grove. 
Your stay there will, I hope, be short; for I feel daily an increas- 
ing impatience to fold my beloved child to my boson. 

Arthur Villars. 


LETTER LI. 

Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 


Holborn, June 27. 

I HAVE just received, ray dearest sir, your kind present, and still 
kinder letter. Surely never had an orphan so little to regret as 
your grateful Evelina ! Though motherless, though worse than 
fatherless, bereft from infancy of the two first and greatest 
blessings of life, never has she had cause to deplore their loss ; 
never has she felt the omission of a parent’s tenderness, care, or 
indulgence ; never, but from sorrow for them., had reason to grieve 
at the separation ! Most thankfully do I receive the token of 
your approbation, and most studiously will I endeavour- so to 
dispose of it as may merit your generous confidence in my 
conduct. 

Your doubts concerning Mr. Macartney give me some uneasi- 
ness. Indeed, sir, he has not the appearance of a man whose 
sorrows are the effect of guilt. But I hope, before I leave town, 


248 


EVELINA. 


to be better acquainted with bis situation, and enabled, with more 
• certainty of bis worth, to recommend bim to your favour. 

I am very willing to relinquish all acquaintance with Sir 
Clement Willoughby, as far as it may depend upon myself so to 
do ; but indeed, I know not bow I should be able to absolutely 
forhid him my sight. 

Miss Mirvan, in her last letter, informs me that he is now at 
Howard Grove, where he continues in high favour with the 
captain, and is the life and spirit of the house. My time, since I 
wrote last, has passed very quietly, Madame Duval having been 
kept at home by a bad cold, and the BranghtOns by bad 
weather. The young man, indeed, has called two or three times ; 
and his behaviour, though equally absurd, is more unaccountable 
than ever ; he speaks very little, takes hardly any notice of 
Madame Duval, and never looks at me without a broad grin. 
Sometimes he approaches me as if with the intention to com- 
municate intelligence of importance ; and then, suddenly stoppng 
short, laughs rudely in my face. 

O how happy shall I be when worthy Mrs. Clinton arrives! 


June 29. 

Yesterday morning Mr. Smith called to acquaint ns that the 
Hampstead assembly was to be held that evening ; and then he 
presented Madame Duval with one ticket, and brought another 
to me. I thanked him for his intended civility, but told him I 
was surprised he had so soon forgotten my having already 
declined going to the ball. 

“ Lord, ma’am,” cried he, “ how should I suppose you was in 
earnest? Come, come, don’t be cross ; here’s your grandmamma 
ready to take care of you, so you can have no fair objection, for 
she’ll see that I don’t run awav with you. Besides, ma’am, I got 
the tickets on purpose.” 

“ If you were determined, sir,” said I, “ in making this offer, 
to allow me no choice of refusal or acceptance, I must think 
myself less obliged to your intention than I was willing to do.” 

“ Dear ma’am,” cried he, “ you are so smart, there is no speak- 


EVELINA. 


249 


ing to you : — indeed you are monstrous smart, ma’am ; but come, 
your grandmamma shall ask you, and I know you’ll not be so 
cruel.” 

Madame Duval was very ready to interfere : she desired me 
to make no further opposition ; said she should go herself, and 
insisted upon my accompanying her. It was in vain that I 
remonstrated ; I only incurred her anger : and Mr. Smith, having 
given both the tickets to Madame Duval with an air of triumph, 
said he should call early in the evening, and took leave. 

I was much chagrined at being thus compelled to owe even 
the shadow of an obligation to so forward a young man ; but I 
determined that nothing should prevail upon me to dance with 
him, however my refusal might give offence. 

In the afternoon, when he returned, it was evident that he 
purposed both to charm and astonish me by his appearance : he 
was dressed in a very showy manner, but without any taste ; and 
the inelegant smartness of his air and deportment, his visible 
struggle against education to put on the fine gentleman, added 
to his frequent conscious glances at a dress to which he was but 
little accustomed, very effectually destroyed his aim of figuring^ 
and rendered all his efibrts useless. 

During tea entered Miss Branghton and her brother. I was 
sorry to observe the consternation of the former when she per- 
ceived Mr. Smith. I had intended applying to her fQ,r advice 
upon this occasion, but had been always deterred by her disa- 
greeable abruptness. Having cast her eyes several times from 
Mr. Smith to me, with manifest displeasure, she seated herself 
sullenly at the window, scarce answering Madame Duval’s inqui- 
ries ; and when I spoke to her, turning absolutely away from 
me. 

Mr. Smith, delighted at this mark of his importance, sat indo- . 
lently quiet on his chair, endeavouring by his looks rather^to 
display than to conceal his inward satisfaction, - 

“ Good gracious !” cried young Branghton, “ why you’re all as 
fine as fivepence ! Why, where are you going ?” 

“ To the Hampstead ball,” answered Mr, Smith. 


250 


EVELINA. 


“ To a ball !” cried he. “ Why, what, is aunt going to a ball ? 
Ha, ha, ha !” 

“ Yes, to be sure,” cried Madame Duval ; “ I don’t know 
nothing need hinder me.” 

“ And pray, aunt, will you dance, too ?” 

“ Perhaps I may ; but I suppose, sir, that’s none of your 
business, whether I do or not.” 

“Lord ! well, I should like to go ! I should like to see aunt 
dance of all things ! But the joke is, I don’t believe she’ll get 
ever a partner.” 

“ You’re the most rudest boy ever I see,” cried Madame Duval, 
angrily : “ but I promise you. I’ll tell your father what you say, 
for I’ve no notion of such vulgarness.” 

“ Why, Lord, aunt, what are you so angry for ? There’s no 
speaking a word, but you fly into a passion : you’re as bad as 
Biddy or Poll for that, for you’re always a-scolding.” 

“ I desire, Tom,” cried Miss Branghton, “ you’d speak for 
yourself, and not make so free with my name.” 

“ There, now, she’s up ! there’s nothing but quarrelling with 
women ; it’s my belief they like it better than victuals and drink.” 

“ Fy, Tom,” cried Mr. Smith, “ you never remember your 
manners before the ladies : I’m sure you never heard me speak 
so rude to them.” 

“ Why, Lord, you are a beau ; but that’s nothing to me. So, 
if you’ve a mind, you may be so polite as to dance with aunt 
yourself.” Then, with a loud laugh, he declared it would be 
good fun to see them. 

“Let it be never so good, or never so bad,” cried Madame 
Duval, “ you won’t see nothing of it, I promise you ; so pray 
don’t let me hear no more of such vulgar pieces of fun ; for, I 
• assure you, I don’t like it. And as to my dancing with Mr. 
Smith, you may see wonderfuller things than that any day in the 
week.” 

“ Why, as to that, ma’am,” said Mr. Smith, looking much 
surprised, “ I always thought you intended to play at cards, and 
so I thought to d^nce with the young lady.” 


EVELINA. 


251 


I gladly seized this opportunity to make my declaration, that 
I should not dance at all. 

“ Not dance at all !” repeated Miss Branghton ; “ yes, that’s a 
likely matter, truly, when people go to balls.” 

“ I wish she mayn’t,” said the brother ; “ ’cause then Mr. Smith 
will have nobody but aunt for a partner. Lord, how mad he’ll 
be !” 

“ Oh, as to that,” said Mr. Smith, “ I don’t at all fear of pre- 
vailing with the young lady, if once I get her to the room.” 

“ Indeed, sir,” cried I, much offended at his conceit, “ you are 
mistaken ; and therefore I beg leave to undeceive you, as you 
may be assured my resolution will not alter.” 

“ Then, pray, miss, if it is not impertinnet,” cried Miss Brangh- 
ton, sneeringly, “ what do you go for?” 

“ Merely and solely,” answered I, “ to comply with the request 
of Madame Duval.” 

“ Miss,” cried young Branghton, “ Bid only wishes it was she, 
for she has cast a sheep’s eye at Mr. Smith this long while.” 

“ Tom,” cried the sister, rising, “ I’ve the greatest mind in the 
world to box your ears ! How dare you say such a thing of me ?” 

“ No, hang it, Tom, no, that’s wrong,” said Mr. Smith, simper- 
ing ; “ it is, indeed, to tell the lady’s secrets. — But never mind 
him. Miss Biddy, for I won’t believe him.” 

“ Why, I know Bid would give her ears to go,” returned the 
brother ; “ but only Mr. Smith likes miss best, — so does every- 
body else.” 

While the sister gave him a very angry answer, Mr. Smith 
said to me in a low voice, “ Why now, ma’am, how can you be 
so cruel as to be so much handsomer than your cousins? Nobody 
can look at them when you are by.” 

“ Miss,” cried young Branghton, “ whatever he says to you, 
don’t mind him, for he means no good ; I’ll give you my word 
for it, he’ll never marry you ; for he has told me again and 
again, he’ll never marry so long as he lives ; besides, if he’d any 
mind to be married, there’s Bid would have had him long ago, 
and thanked him too.” 


252 


KVELINA. 


“ Come, come, Tom, don’t tell secrets ; you’ll make the ladies 
afraid of me : but I assure you,” lowering his voice, “ if I did 
marry, it should be your cousin.” 

Should be ! — did you ever, my dear sir, hear such unauthor- 
ized freedom ? I looked at him with a contempt I did not wish 
to repress, and walked to the other end of the room. 

Very soon after, Mr. Smith sent for a hackney-coach. When 
I would have taken leave of Miss Branghton, she turned angrily 
from me, without making any answer. She supposes, perhaps, 
that I have rather sought, than endeavoured to avoid the notice 
and civilities of this conceited young man. 

The ball was at the long room at Hampstead. 

This room seems very well named, for I believe it would be 
difficult to find any other epithet which might with propriety 
distinguish it, as it is without ornament, elegance, or any other 
sort of singularity, and merely to be marked by its length. 

I was saved from the importunities of Mr. Smith the beginning 
of the evening by Madame Duval’s declaring her intention to 
dance the first two dances with him herself. Mr. Smith’s cha- 
grin was very evident ; but as she paid no regard to it, he was 
necessitated to lead her out. 

I was, however, by no means pleased, when she said she was 
determined to dance a minuet. Indeed, I was quite astonished, 
not having the least idea she would have consented to, much 
less proposed, such an exhibition of her person. She had some 
trouble to make her intentions known, as if Mr. Smith was 
rather averse to speaking to the master of the ceremonies. 

During this minuet how much did I rejoice in being sur- 
rounded only with strangers ! She danced in a style so uncom- 
mon ; her age, her showy dress, and unusual quantity- of rouge 
drew upon her the eyes, and I fear the derision, of the whole 
company. Whom she danced with I know not ; but Mr. Smith 
was so ill-bred as to laugh at her very openly, and to speak of 
her with as much ridicule as was in his power. But I would 
neither look at nor listen to him, nor would I suffer him to pro- 
ceed with any speech which he began, expressive of his vexation 


EVELINA. 


253 


at being forced to dance with her. I told him, very gravely, 
that complaints upon such a subject might, with less impropriety, 
be made to every person in the room than to me. 

When she returned to us, she distressed me very much, by 
asking what I thought of her minuet. I spoke as civilly as I 
could ; but the coldness of my compliment evidently disap- 
pointed her. She then called upon Mr. Smith to secure a good 
place among the country dancers; and away they went, though 
not before he had taken the liberty to say to me in a low voice, 
“ I protest to you, ma’am, I shall be quite out of countenance if 
any of my acquaintance should see me dancing with the old 
lady I” 

For a few moments I very much rejoiced at being relieved 
from this troublesome man ; but scarce had I time to congratu- 
late myself, before I was accosted by another, vho begged ike 
favour of hopping a dance with me. 

I told him that I should not dance at all ; but he thought 
proper to importune me, very freely, not to be so cruel ; and I 
was obliged to assume no little haughtiness before I could satisfy 
him I was serious. 

After this I was addressed much in the same manner by seve- 
ral other young men, of whom the appearance and language 
were equally inelegant and low-bred ; so that I soon found my 
situation was both disagreeable and improper, since, as I was 
quite alone, I feared I must have seemed rather to invite than to 
forbid the offers and notice I received; and yet so great was 
my apprehension of this interpretation, thajt I am sure, my dear 
sir, you would have laughed had you seen how proudly grave I 
appeared. 

I knew not whether to be glad or sorry when Madame Duval 
and Mr. Smith returned. The latter instantly renewed his tire- 
some entreaties, and Madame Duval said she would go to the 
card-table ; and as soon as she was accommodated, she desired 
us to join the dancers. 

I will not trouble you with the arguments which followed. 
Mr. Smith teased me till I was weary of resistance ; and I should 


254 


EVELINA. 


at last have been obliged to submit, had I not fortunately recol- 
lected the affair of Mr.'Lovel, and told my persecutor that it was 
impossible I should dance with him, even if I wished it, as I had 
refused several persons in his absence. 

He was not contented with being extremely chagrined ; but 
took the liberty openly and warmly to expostulate with me upon 
not having said I was engaged. 

The total disregard with which, involuntarily, I heard him, 
made him soon change the subject. In truth, I had no power 
to attend to him ; for all my thoughts were occupied in retracing 
the transactions of the two former balls at which I had been pre- 
sent. The party — the conversation — the company — O how great 
the contrast ! . 

In a short time, however, he contrived to draw my attention 
to himself, by his extreme impertinence ; for he chose to express 
what he called his admiration of me in terms so open and fami- 
liar, that he forced me to express my displeasure with equal 
plainness. 

But how was I surprised when I found he had the temerity — 
what else can I call it? — to impute my resentment to doubts of 
his honour ! for he said, “ My dear ma’am, you must be a little 
patient ; I assure you I have no bad designs, I have not, upon 
my word ; but, really, there is no resolving up’on such a thing 
as matrimony all at once : what with the loss of one’s liberty, 
and what with the ridicule of all one’s acquaintance, — I assure 
you, ma’am, you are the first lady who ever made me even demur 
upon this subject ; for, after all, my dear ma’am, marriage is the 
devil.” 

“Your opinion, sir,” answered I, “of either the married or the 
single life can be of no manner of consequence to me ; and there- 
fore I would by no means trouble you to discu.ss their different 
in— its.” 

• Why, really, ma’am, as to your being a little out of sorts, I 
must own I can’t wonder at it ; for, to be sure, marriage is all in 
all with the ladies; but with us gentlemen it’s quite another 
thing ! Now only put yourself in my place ; — suppose you had 


EVELINA. 


255 


such a large acquaintance of gentlemen as T have, — and that you 
had always been used to appear a little — a little smart among 
them, — why, now, how should you like to let yourself down all 
at once into a married man ?” 

I could not tell what to answer ; so much conceit and so much 
ignorance both astonished and silenced me. 

“I assure you, ma’am,” added he, “there is not only Miss 
Biddy, — though I should have scorned to mention her, if her 
brother had not blabbed, for I’m quite particular in keeping 
ladies’ secrets, — but there are a great many other ladies that 
have been proposed to me ; — but I never thought twice of any 
of them, that is, not in a serious way ; — so you may very well be 
proud,” offering to take my hand ; “ for I assure you, there is 
nobody so likely to catch me at last as yourself.” 

“ Sir,” cried I, drawing myself back as haughtily as I could, 
“you are totally mistaken if you imagine you have given me 
any pride I felt not before by this conversation ; on the contrary, 
you must allow me to tell you, I find it too humiliating to bear 
wuth it any longer.” 

I then placed myself behind the chair of Madame Duval; 
who, when she heard of the partners T had refused, pitied my 
ignorance of the world, but no longer insisted upon my dancing. 

Indeed, the extreme vanity of this man makes me exert a 
spirit which I did not, till now, know that I possessed : but I 
cannot endure that he should think me at his disposal. 

The rest of the evening passed very quietly, as Mr. Smith did 
not again attempt speaking to me ; except,, indeed, after we had 
left the room, and while Madame Duval was seating herself in 
the coach, he said, in a voice of jpique, “ Next time I take the 
trouble to get any tickets for a young lady. I’ll make a bargain 
beforehand that she sha’n’t turn me over to her grandmother.” 

We came home very safe ; and thus ended this so long pro- 
jected and most disagreeable aflfair. 


256 


EVELINA. 


LETTER LIT 
Evelina in continuatim. 

I HAVE just received a most affecting letter from Mr. Macart- 
ney. I will enclose it, my dear sir, for your perusal. More 
than ever have I cause to rejoice that I was able to assist him. 

“ Mr. Macartney to Miss Anville. 

“ Madam, 

“Impressed with the deepest, the most neartfelt sense of 
the exalted humanity with which you have rescued from destruc- 
tion an unhappy stranger, allow me, with the humblest gratitude, 
to offer you my fervent acknowledgments, and to implore your 
pardon for the terror I have caused you. 

“ You bid me, madam, live : I have now, indeed, a motive for 
life, since I should not willingly quit the world while I withhold 
from the needy and distressed any share of that charity which a 
disposition so noble would otherwise bestow upon them. 

“The benevolence with which you have interested yourself in 
my affairs induces me to suppose you would wish to be acquainted 
with the cause of that desperation from which you snatched me, 
and the particulars of that misery of which you have so wonder- 
fully been a witness. Yet, as this explanation will require that 
I should divulge secrets of a nature the most delicate, I must 
entreat you to regard them as sacred, even though I forbear to 
mention the names of the parties concerned. 

“ I was brought up in Scotland, though my mother, who had 
the sole care of me, was an Englishwoman, and had not one rela- 
tion in that country. She devoted to me her whole time. The 
retirement in which we lived, and the distance from our natural 
friends, she often told me, were the effect of an unconquerable 
melancholy with which she was seized upon the sudden loss of 
my father, some time before I was born. 

“At Aberdeen, where I finished my education, I formed a 


EVELINA. 


257 


friendship with a young man of fortune, which I considered as 
the chief happiness of my life : but when he quitted his studies I 
considered it as my chief misfortune ; for he immediately pre- 
pared, by direction of his friends, to make the tour of Europe. 
As I was designed for the church, and. had no prospect even of 
maintenance but from my own industry, I scarce dared permit 
even a wish of accompanying him. It is true, he would joyfully 
have borne my expenses: but my affection was as free from 
meanness as his own ; and I made a determination the most 
solemn, never to lessen its dignity by submitting to pecuniary 
obligations. 

“We corresponded with great regularity and the most 
unbounded confidence for the space of two years, when he 
arrived at Lyons in his way home. 

“ He wrote me thence the most pressing invitation to meet 
him at Paris, where he intended to remain some time. My 
desire to comply with his request, and shorten our absence, was 
so earnest, that my mother, too indulgent to control me, lent me 
what assistance was in her power, and, in an ill-fated moment, I 
set out for that capital. 

“ My meeting with this dear friend was the happiest event of 
my life ; he introduced me to all his acquaintance ; and so quick 
did time seem to pass at that delightful period, that the six weeks 
I had allotted for my stay were gone ere I was sensible I had 
missed so many days. But 1 must now own, that the company 
of my friend was not the sole subject of my felicity : I became 
acquainted with a young lady, daughter of an Englishman of 
distinction, with whom I formed an attachment which I have a 
thousand times vowed, a thousand times sincerely thought, would 
be lasting as my life. She had but just quitted a convent in which 
she had been placed when a child : and though English by birth, 
she could scarcely speak her native language. Her person and 
disposition were equally engaging ; but chiefly I adored her for 
the greatness of the expectations which, for my sake, she was 
willing to resign. 

“ When the time for my residence in Paris expired, I was 


258 


EVELINA. 


almost distracted at the idea of quitting her ; yet I had not the 
courage to make our attachment known to her father, who might 
reasonably form for her such views as would make him reject, 
with a contempt which I could not bear to think of, such an oft’er 
as mine. Yet I had free access to the house, where she seemed 
to be left almost wholly to the guidance of an old servant, who 
was my fast friend. 

“ But to be brief, the sudden and unexpected return of her 
father one fatal afternoon proved the beginning of the misery 
which has ever since devoured me. I doubt not but he had lis- 
tened to our conversation : for he darted into the room with the 
rage of a madman. Heavens ! what a scene followed ! — what 
abusive language did the shame of a clandestine affair, and the 
consciousness of acting ill, induce me to brook ! At length, how- 
ever, his fury exceeded my patience ; he called me a beggarly, 
cowardly Scotchman. Fired at these words, I drew my sword ; 
he, with equal alertness, drew his ; for he was not an old man, 
but on the contrary, strong and able as myself. In vain his 
daughter pleaded ; in vain did I, repentant of my anger, retreat 
—his reproaches continued; myself, my country were loaded 
with infamy, till, no longer constraining my rage, — we fought, — 
and he fell ! 

“ At that moment I could almost have destroyed myself! The 
young lady fainted with terror; the old servant, drawn to us by 
the noise of the scuffle, entreated me to escape, and promised to 
bring intelligence of what should pass to my apartments. The 
disturbance which I heard raised in the house obliged me to com- 
ply ; and, in a state of mind inconceivably wretched, I tore my- 
self away. 

“ My friend, whom I found at home, soon discovered the whole 
affair. It was near midnight before the woman came. She told 
me that her master was living, and her young mistress restored to 
her senses. The absolute necessity for my leaving Paris, while 
any danger remained, was forcibly argued by my friend : the ser- 
vant promised to acquaint him of whatever passed, and he to 
transmit to me her information. Thus circumstanced, with the 


EVELINA. 


259 


assistance of this dear friend, I effected my departure from Paris, 
and not long after I returned to Scotland. I would fain have 
stopped by the way, that I might have been nearer the scene of 
all my concerns ; but the low state of my finances denied me that 
satisfaction. 

“ The miserable situation of my mind was soon discovered by 
my mother ; nor would she rest till I communicated the cause. 
She heard my whole story with an agitation which astonished me : 
— the name of the parties concerned seemed to strike her with 
horror : — but when I said, We fought, and he fell — ‘ My son,’ 
cried she, ‘ you have then murdered your father !’ and she sunk 
breathless at my feet. Comments, madam, upon such a scene as 
this would to you be superfluous, and to me agonizing : I cannot, 
for both our sakes, be too concise. When she recovered, she con- 
fessed all the particulars of a tale which she had hoped never to 
have revealed. — Alas! the loss she had sustained of my father 
was not by death ! — bound to her by no ties but those of honour, 
he had voluntarily deserted her ! — Her settling in Scotland was 
not the effect of choice, — she was banished thither by a family 
but too justly incensed. — Pardon, madam, that I cannot be more 
explicit ! 

“ My senses in the greatness of my misery actually forsook me, 
and for more than a w^eek I was wholly delirious. My unfortu- 
nate mother was yet more to be pitied ; for she pined with unmi- 
tigated sorrow, eternally reproaching herself for the danger to 
which her too strict silence had exposed me. When I recovered 
my reason, my impatience to hear from Paris almost deprived 
me of it again ; and though the length of time I waited for let- 
ters might justly be attributed to contrary winds, I could not 
bear the delay, and was twenty times upon the point of return- 
ing thither at all hazards. At length, however, several letters 
arrived at once, and from the most insupportable of my afflictions 
I was then relieved ; for they acquainted me that the horrors of 
parricide were not in reserve for me. They informed me also, 
that as soon as the wound was healed, a journey would be made 
to England, where my unhappy sister was to be received by an 
aunt, with whom she was to live. 


260 


EVELINA. 


“ This intellig^ence somewhat quieted the violence of my sorrows. 
I instantly formed a plan of meeting them in London, and, by 
revealing the whole dreadful story, convincing this irritated 
parent that he had nothing more to apprehend from his daugh- 
ter’s unfortunate choice. My mother consented, and gave me a let- 
ter to prove the truth of my assertions. As I could but ill afford 
to make this journey, I travelled in the cheapest way that was pos- 
sible. I took an obscure lodging, — I need not, madam, tell you 
where, — and boarded with the people of the house. 

“ Here I languished, week after week, vainly hoping for the 
arrival of my family ; but my impetuosity had blinded me to the 
imprudence of which I was guilty in quitting Scotland so hastily. 
My wounded father, after his recovery, relapsed : and when I had 
waited in the most comfortless situation for six weeks, my friend 
wrote me word that the journey was yet deferred for some time 
longer. 

“ My finances were then nearly exhausted ; and I was obliged, 
though most unwillingly, to beg further assistance from my 
mother, that I might return to Scotland. O madam ! — my 
answer was not from herself ; it was written by a lady who had 
long been her companion, and acquainted me that she had been 
taken suddenly ill of a fever, — and was no more ! 

“ The compassionate nature of which you have given such 
noble proofs, assures me I need not, if I could, paint to you the 
anguish of a mind overwhelmed with such accumulated sorrows. 

“ Enclosed was a letter to a near relation, which she had, during 
her illness, with much difficulty written ; and in which, with the 
strongest maternal tenderness, she described my deplorable situa- 
tion, and entreated his interest to procure me some preferment. 
Yet so sunk was I by misfortune, that a fortnight elapsed before 
I had the courage or spirit to attempt delivering this letter. I 
was then compelled to it by want. To make my appearance 
with some decency, I was necessitated myself to the melancholy 
task of changing my coloured clothes for a suit of mourning ; — 
and ilien I proceeded to seek my relation. 

“I was informed he was not in town. 

“ In this desperate situation, the pride of my heart, which 


EVELINA. 


261 


hitherto had not bowed to adversity, gave way ; and I deter- 
mined to entreat the assistance of my friend, whose offered 
services I had a thousand times rejected. Yet, madam, so hard 
is it to root out from the mind its favourite principles or pre- 
judices, call them which you please, that I lingered another week 
ere I had the resolution to send away a letter which I regarded 
as the death of my independence. 

“ At length, reduced to my last shilling, dunned insolently by 
the people of the house, and almost famished, I sealed this fatal 
letter ; and, with a heavy heart, determined to take it to the post- 
oiOSce. But Mr. Branghton and his son suffered me not to pass 
through their shop with impunity ; they insulted me grossly, and 
threatened me with imprisonment, if I did not immediately 
satisfy their demands. Stung to the soul, I bade them have but a 
day’s patience, and flung from them in a state of mind too ter- 
rible for description. 

“ My letter, which I now found would be received too late to 
save me from disgrace, I tore into a thousand pieces ; and scarce 
could I refrain from putting an instantaneous, an unlicensed 
period to my existence. 

“In this disorder of my senses, I formed the horrible plan of 
turning footpad ; for which purpose I returned to my lodging, 
and collected whatever of my apparel I could part with ; which I 
immediately sold, and with the produce purchased a brace of 
pistols, powder, and shot. I hope, however, you will believe me, 
when I most solemnly assure you my sole intention was to 
frighten the passengers I should assault with these dangerous 
weapons; which I had not loaded, but from a resolution, — a 
dreadful one, I own, — to save myself from an ignominious death, 
if seized. And, indeed, I thought that if I could but procure 
money sufficient to pay Mr. Branghton, and make a journey to 
Scotland, I should soon be able, by the public papers, to discover 
whom I had injured, and to make private retribution. 

• “ But, madam, new to every species of villany, my perturbation 

was so great that I could with difficulty support myself : yet the 
Branghtons observed it not as I passed through the shop. 

“ Here I stop : what followed is better known to yourself. 


262 


EVELINA. 


But no time can ever efface from my memory that moment when, 
in the very action of preparing for my own destruction, or the 
lawless seizure of the property of others, you rushed into the room 
and arrested my arm ! It was indeed an awful moment !— the 
hand of Providence seemed to intervene between me and eternity : 
I beheld you as an angel ! I thought you dropped from the 
clouds ! The earth, indeed, had never presented to my view a 
form so celestial ! W^hat wonder, then, that a spectacle so asto- 
nishing should, to a man disordered as I was, appear too beautiful 
to be human ? 

“ And now, madam, that I have performed this painful task, 
the more grateful one remains of rewarding, as far as in my 
power, your generous goodness, by assuring you it shall not be 
thrown away. You have awakened me to a sense of the false pride 
by which I have been actuated ; — a pride which, while it scorned 
assistance from a friend, scrupled not to compel it from a stranger, 
thouo-h at a hazard of reducing that stranger to a situation as 
destitute as my own. Yet, oh ! how violent was the struggle 
which tore my conflicting soul, ere I could persuade myself to 
profit by the benevolence which you were so evidently disposed 
to exert in my favour ! 

“ By means of a ring, the gift of my much-regretted mother, 
I have for the present satisfied Mr. Branghton ; and by means of 
your compassion, I hope to support myself either till I hear from 
my friend, to whom at length I have written, or till the rela- 
tion of my mother returns to town. 

“ To talk to you, madam, of paying my debt would be vain ; I 
never can ! — the service you have done me exceeds all power of 
return : you have restored me to my senses ; you have taught me 
to curb those passions which bereft me of them ; and, since I 
cannot avoid calamity, to bear it as a man ! An interposition so 
wonderfully circumstanced can never be recollected without 
benefit. Yet allow me to say, the pecuniary part of my obligation 
must be settled by my first ability. 

“ I am, madam, with the most profound respect and heartfelt 
gratitude, Your obedient and devoted humble servant, 

“ J. Macartney.’^ 


EVELINA. 


'2t)S . 


- . LETTER LIIT. 

Evelina in continuation. 

Holborn, July 1, — 5 o’clock in the morning. 

O, SIR, what an adventure have I to write ! — all night it has 
occupied my thoughts, and I am now risen thus early to write it 
to you. 

Yesterday it was settled that we should spend the evening in 
Maryhone Gardens, where M. Torre, a celebrated foreigner, was 
to exhibit some fireworks. The party consisted of Madam e Duval, 
and all the Branghtons, M. dii Bois, Mr. Smith, and Mr. Brown. 

We were almost the first persons who entered the gardens, Mr. 
Branghton having declared he would have all he could get for 
his money., which, at best, was only fooled away at such silly and 
idle places. 

We walked in parties, and very much detached from one 
another. Mr. Brown and Miss Polly led the way by them- 
selves ; Miss Branghton and Mr. Smith followed ; and the latter 
seemed determined to be revenged for my behaviour at the ball, 
by transferring all his former attention for me to Miss Branghton, 
who received it with an air of exultation ; and very frequently 
they each of them, though from different motives, looked back 
to discover whether I observed their good intelligence. Madame 
Duval walked with M. du Bois, and Mr. Branghton by himself ; 
but his son would willingly have attached himself wholly to me ; 
saying frequently, “ Come, miss, let’s you and I have a little fun 
together : you see they have all left us, so now let’s leave them.” 
But I begged to be excused, and went to the other side of 
Madame Duval. 

This garden, as it is called, is neither striking for magnificence 
nor for beauty ; and we were all so dull and languid, that I was 
extremely glad when we were summoned to the orchestra upon 
the opening of a concerto ; in the course of which I had the 
pleasure of hearing a concert on the violin by Mr. Barthelemon, 
who to me seems a player of exquisite fancy, feeling, and variety 


261 


EVELINA. 


When notice was given us that the fireworks were preparing, 
we hurried along to secure good places for the sight ; but very 
soon we were so encircled and incommoded by the crowd, that 
Mr. Smith proposed the ladies should make interest for a form to 
stand upon : this was soon effected ; and the men then left us to 
accommodate themselves better, saying they would return the 
moment the exhibition was over. 

The firework was really beautiful, and told with wonderful 
ingenuity, the story of Orpheus and Eurydice ; but at the moment 
of the fatal look which separated them for ever, there was such 
an explosion of fire, and so horrible a noise, that we all, as of 
one accord, jumped hastily from the form, and ran away some 
•paces, fearing that we were in danger of mischief, from the innu- 
merable sparks of fire which glittered in the air. 

For a moment or two I neither knew nor considered whither 
I had run; 'but my recollection was soon awakened by a stran- 
ger’s addressing me with, “ Come along with me, my dear, and 
I’ll take care of you.” 

I started ; and then, to my great terror, perceived that I had 
outrun all my companions, and saw not one human being I knew ! 
With all the speed in my power, and forgetful of my first fright, 
I hastened back to the place I had left ; but found the form occu- 
pied by a new set of people. 

In vain, from side to side, I looked for some face I knew ; I 
found myself in the midst of a crowd, yet without party, friend 
or acquaintance. I walked in disordered haste from place to 
place, without knowing which way to turn, or whither I went. 
Every other moment I was spoken to by some bold and unfeel- 
ing man ; to whom my distress, which I think must have been 
very apparent, only furnished a pretence for impertinent witti- 
cisms, or free gallantry. 

At last a young oflicer, marching fiercely up to me, said, “ You 
are a sweet pretty creature, and I enlist you in my service and 
then, with great violence, he seized my hand. I screamed aloud 
with fear ; and forcibly snatching it away, I ran hastily up to 


EVELINA. 


265 


two ladies, and cried, “ For heaven’s sake, dear ladies, afford me 
some protection.” 

They heard me with a loud laugh, but very readily said, “ Ay, 
let her walk between us and each of them took hold of an 
arm. 

Then, in a drawling, ironical tone of voice, they asked what had 
frightened my little ladyship ? I told them my adventure very 
simply, and entreated they would have the goodness to assist me 
in finding my friends. 

0 yes, to be sure, they said, I should not want for friends 
while I was with them. “ Mine,” I said, “ would be very grate- 
ful for any civilities with which they might favour me.” But 
imagine, my dear sir, how I must be confounded, when I observed 
that every other word I spoke produced a loud laugh ! However, 
I will not dwell upon a conversation which soon, to my inex- 
pressible horror, convinced me I had sought protection from 
insult of those who were themselves most likely to ofier it ! You, 
my dearest sir, I well know, will both feel for and pity my terror, 
which I have no words to describe. 

Had I been at liberty, I should have instantly run away from 
them when I made the shocking discovery ; but, as they held 
me fast, that was utterly impossible : and such was my dread of 
their resentment or abuse, that I did not dare make any open 
attempt to escape. 

Tliey asked me a thousand questions, accompanied by as 
many halloos, of who I was, what I was, and whence I came. 
Mv answers were very incoherent ; — but what, good heaven, were 
my emotions, when, a few moments afterward, I perceived 
advancing our way — Lord Orville ! 

Never shall I forget what I felt at that instant : had I, indeed, 
been sunk to the guilty state which such companions might lead 
him to suspect, I could scarce have had feelings more cruelly 
depressing. 

However, to my infinite joy, he passed us without distinguish- 
ing me ; though I saw that in a careless manner his eyes sur- 
veyed the party. 


12 


266 


EVELINA. 


As soon as lie was gone, one of these unhappy women said, 
“Do you know that young fellow ?” 

Not thinking it possible she should mean Lord Orville by such 
a term, I readily answered, “ No, Madam.” 

“ Why then,” answered she, “ you have a monstrous good stare 
for a little country miss.” 

I now found I had mistaken her, but was glad to avoid an 
explanation. 

A few minutes after, what was my delight to hear the voice of 
Mr. Brown, who called out, “ Lord, ain’t that Miss what’s-her- 
name ?” 

Thank God,” cried I, suddenly springing from them both, 
“ thank God, I have found my party.” 

Mr. Brown was, however, alone ; and, without knowing what 
I did, I took hold of his arm. 

“ Lord miss,” cried he, “ we’ve had such a hunt you can’t 
think : some of them thought you was gone home ; but I says, 
says I, I don’t think, says I, that’s she’s like to go home all alone, 
says I.” 

“ So that gentleman belongs to you, miss, does he ?” said one 
of the women. 

“Yes, madam,” answered I, “and I now thank you for your 
civility ; but, as I am safe, will not give you any further trouble.” 

I courtesied slightly, and would have walked away, but, most 
unfortunately, Madame Duval and the two Misses Branghton just 
then joined us. 

They all began to make a thousand inquiries ; to which I 
briefly answered, that I had been obliged to these two ladies for 
walking with me, and would tell them more another time : for, 
though I felt great comparative courage, I was yet too much inti- 
midated by their presence to dare be explicit. 

Nevertheless, I ventured once more to wish them good night, 
and proposed seeking Mr. Branghton. These unhappy women 
listened to all* that was said with a kind of callous curiosity, and 
seemed determined not to take any hint. But my vexation was 
terribly agumented when, after having whispered something to 


EVELINA. 


267 


each other, they very ca\'alierly declared that they intended join- 
iifg our party ! — and then one of them very boldly took hold of 
my arm, while the other, going round, seized that of Mr. Brown ; 
and thus almost forcibly we were moved on between them, and 
followed by Madame Duval and the Misses Branghton. 

It would be very difiBcult to say which was greatest, my fright 
or Mr. Brown’s consternation ; who ventured not to make the 
least resistance, though his uneasiness made him tremble almost 
as much as myself. I would instantly have withdrawn' my arm ; 
but it was held so tight I could not move it : and poor Mr. Brown 
was circumstanced in the same manner on the other side ; for I 
heard him say, “ Lord, ma’am, there’s no need to squeeze one’s 
arm so !” 

And this was our situation, — for we had not taken three steps, 
when — 0 sir — we again met Lord Orville ! But not again did 
he pass quietly by us. Unhappily I caught his eye; — both mine 
immediately w^ere bent to the ground ; but he approached me, and 
we all stopped. 

I then looked up. He bowed. Good God, with what expres- 
sive eyes did he regard me ! Never were surprise and concern 
so strongly marked : — yes, my dear sir, he looked greatly con- 
cerned ; and that, the remembrance of that is the only conso- 
lation I feel for an evening the most painful of my life. 

What he first said I know not ; for, indeed, I seemed to have 
neither ears nor understanding ; but I recollect that I only courte- 
sied in silence. He paused for an instant, as if — I believe so — as 
if unwilling to pass on ; and then, finding the whole party detained, 
he again bowed, and took leave. 

Indeed, my dear sir, I thought I should have fainted ; so great 
was my emotion, from shame, vexation, and a thousand other 
feelings for which I have no expressions. I absolutely tore 
myself from the woman’s arm, and then disengaging myself from 
that of Mr. Brown, I went to Madame Duval, and besought 
that she would not suffer me to be again parted from her. 

I fancy that Lord Orville saw wdiat passed ; for scarcely was I 
at liberty ere he returned. Methoiight, my dear sir, the pleasure, 


268 


EVELINA. 


the surprise of that moment recompensed me for all the 
phao-rin I had before felt : for do you not think that his return 
manifests, from a character so quiet, so reserved as Lord Orville’s, 
something like solicitude in my concerns ? Such at least was 
the interpretation I involuntarily made upon again seeing him. 

With a politeness .to which I have been some time very little 
used, he apologized for returning; and then inquired after the 
health of Mrs. Mirvan, and the rest of the Howard Grove family. 
The flattering conjecture which I have just acknowledged had 
so wonderfully restored my spirits, that I believe I never answered 
him so readily, and with so little constraint. Very short, how- 
ever, was the duration ofv this conversation ; for we were soon 
most disagreeably interrupted. 

The Misses Branghton, though they saw almost immediately the 
characters of the women to whom I had so unfortunately applied, 
were, nevertheless, so weak and foolish as merely to titter at 
their behaviour. As to Madame Duval, she was for some time 
so strangely imposed upon, that she thought they were two real 
fine ladies. Indeed, it is wonderful to see how easily and how 
frequently she is deceived. Our disturbance, however, arose 
from young Brown, who was now between the two women, by 
whom his arms were absolutely pinioned to his sides : for a few 
minutes his complaints had been only murmured ; but he now 
called out aloud, “ Goodness, ladies, you hurt me like any thing ! 
why, I can’t walk at all, if you keep pinching my arms so !” 

This speech raised a loud laugh in the women, and re- 
doubled the tittering of the Misses Branghton. For my own 
part, I was most cruelly confused ; while the countenance of 
Lord Orville manifested a sort of indignant astonishment ; and, 
from that moment, he spoke to me no more till he took 
leave. 

Madame Duval, who now began to suspect her company, pro- 
posed our taking the first box we saw empty, bespeaking a sup- 
per, and waiting till Mr. Branghton should find us. 

Miss Polly mentioned one she had remarked, to which we all 
turned. Madame Duval instantly seated herself; and the two 


EVELINA. 


269 


bold women, forcing tlie frightened Mr. Brown to go between 
them, followed her example. 

Lord Orville, with an air of gravity that wounded my very 
soul, then wished me good night. I said not a word ; but my 
face, if it had any connexion with my heart ; must have looked 
melancholy indeed : and so I have some reason to believe it 
did, for he added, with much more softness though no less 
dignity, “ Will Miss Anville allow me to ask her address, and to 
pay my respects to her before I leave town ?’^ 

O how I changed colour at this unexpected request ! — yet 
what was the mortification I sufiered in answering, “ My lord, I 
am — in Holborn !” 

He then bowed and left us. 

What, what can he think of this adventure ! how strangely, 
how cruelly have all appearances turned against me ! Had I 
been blessed with any presence of mind, I should instantly have 
explained to him the accident which occasioned my being in 
such terrible company : — but I have none ! 

As to the rest of the evening, I cannot relate tbe particulars 
of what passed ; for, to you, I only write of what I think ; and 
can think of nothing but this unfortunate, this disgraceful meet- 
ing. • These two wretched women continued to torment us all, 
but especially poor Mr. Brown, who seemed to afford them 
uncommon diversion, till we were discovered by Mr. Branghton, 
who very soon found means to release us from their persecutions 
by frightening them away. We staid but a short time after they 
left us, which was all employed in explanation. 

Whatever may be the construction which Lord Orville may 
put upon this aflfair, to me it cannot fail of being unfavourable ; 
to be seen — gracious Heaven ! to be seen in company with two 
women of such character ! — How vainly, how proudly have I 
wished to avoid meeting him when only with the Branghtons 
and Madame Duval ; but now how joyful should I be had he 
seen me to no greater disadvantage I — Holborn, too ! what a 
direction ! he who had always — but I will not torment you, my 
dearest sir, with any more of my mortifying conjectures and 


270 


EVELINA. 


apprehensions: perhaps he may call, — and then I shall have an 
opportunity of explaining to him all the most shocking part of 
the adventure. And yet, as I did not tell him at whose house I"' 
lived, he may not be able to discover me ; I merely said, in Hoi- 
horn : and he, who 1 suppose saw my embarrassment, forbore to 
ask any other direction. 

Well, I must take my chance ! 

Yet let me, in justice to Lord Orville, and in justice to the 
high opinion I have always entertained of his honour and deli- 
cacy, — let me observe the difference of his behaviour, when 
nearly in the same situation, to that of Sir Clement Willoughby. 
He had, at least, equal cause to depreciate me in his opinion, 
and to mortify and sink me in my own ; but far different was 
his conduct : — perplexed, indeed, he looked, and much sur- 
prised : — but it was benevolently, not with insolence. I am 
even inclined to think that he could not see a young creature 
whom he had so lately known in a higher sphere appear so sud- 
denly, so strangely, so disgracefully altered in her situation, with- 
out some pity and concern. But whatever might be his doubts 
and suspicions, far from suffering them to influence his behaviour, 
he spoke, he looked with the same politeness and attention with 
which he had always honoured me when countenanced by Mrs. 
Mirvan. 

Once again let me drop this subject. 

In every mortification, every disturbance, how grateful to my 
heart, how sweet to my recollection, is the certainty of your 
neverfailing tenderness, sympathy and protection ! Oh, sir, could 
I upon this subject, could I write as I feel, how animated would 
be the language of your devoted 


Evelina. 


EVELINA. 


271 


LETTER LIV. 

Evelina in continuation* 

Holborn, July 1. 

Listless, uneasy and without either spirit or courage to em- 
ploy myself from the time I had finished my last letter, I 
indolently seated myself at the window, where, while I waited 
Madame Duval’s summons to breakfast, I perceived, among the 
carriages which passed by, a coronet-coach, and, in a few 
minutes, from the window of it. Lord Orville ! I instantly 
retreated, but not, I believe, unseen ; for the coach immediately 
drove up to our door. 

Indeed, my dear sir, I must own I was greatly agitated ; the 
the idea of receiving Lord Orville by myself, — the knowledge 
that his visit was entirely to me, — the wish of explaining the 
unfortunate adventure of yesterday, — and the mortification of 
my present circumstances, all these thoughts, occurring to me 
nearly at the same time, occasioned me more anxiety, confusion, 
and perplexity than I can possibly express. 

I believe he meant to send up his name ; but the maid, unused 
to such a ceremony, forgot it by the way, and only told me that 
a great lord was below, and desired to see me ; and, the next 
moment, he appeared himself. 

If formerly, when in the circle of high life, and accustomed to 
its manners, I so much admired and distinguished the grace, the 
elegance of Lord Orville, think, sir, how they must strike me 
now, — now, when far removed from that splendid circle, I live 
with those to whom even civility is unknown, and decorum a 
stranger. 

I am sure I received him very awkwardly : depressed by a 
situation so disagreeable— could I do otherwise ? When his first 
inquiries were made, “ I think myself very fortunate,” he said, 
“ in meeting with Miss Anville at home, and still more so in 
finding her disengaged.” 

I only courtesied. He then talked of Mrs. Mirvan, asked how 


272 


EVELINA. 


long I had been in town, and other such general questions ; 
which happily gave me time to recover from my embarrassment. 
After which he said, “ If Miss Anville will allow me the honour 
of sitting by her a few minutes (for we were both standing), ,! 
will venture to tell her the motive which, next to inquiring after 
her health, has prompted me to wait on her thus early.” 

We were then both seated ; and, after a short pause, he said, 
“ How to apologize for so great a liberty as I am upon the point 
of taking I know not ; — shall I, therefore, rely wholly upon your 
goodness, and not apologize at all ?” 

I only bowed. 

“ I should be extremely sorry to appear impertinent, — yet 
hardly know how to avoid it.” 

“ Impertinent ! 0, my lord,” cried I, eagerly, “ that, I am sure 
is impossible !” 

“You‘are very good,” answered he, “and encourage me to be 
ingenuous ” 

Again he stopped: but my expectation was too great for 
speech. At last, without looking at me, in a low voice and hesi- 
tating manner, he said, “ Were those ladies with whom I saw 
you last night ever in your company before 

“Ko, my lord,” cried I, rising, and colouring violently, “ nor 
will they ever be again.” 

He rose too : and with an air of the most condescending con- 
^cern, said, “ Pardon, madam, the abruptness of a question which 
I knew not how to introduce as I ought, and for which I have 
no excuse to offer but my respect for Mrs. Mirvan, joined to the 
sincerest wishes for your happiness : yet I fear I have gone too 
far.” 

“ I am very sensible of the honour of your lordship’s atten- 
tion,” said I ; “ but ” 

“Permit me to assure you,” cried he, finding I hesitated, 
“that officiousness is not my characteristic ; and that I would 
by no means have risked your displeasure had I not been fully 
satisfied you were too generous to be offended without a real 
cause of offence.” 


EVELINA. 


273 


“ Offended !” cried I, “ no, my lord, I am only grieved — 
grieved, indeed ! to find myself in a situation so unfortunate as 
to be obliged to make explanations which cannot but mortify 
• and shock me.” 

“ It is I alone,” cried he, with some eagerness, “ who am 
shocked, as it is I who deserve to be mortified. I seek no ex- 
planation, for I have no doubt; but in mistaking me. Miss 
Anville injures herself : allow me, therefore, frankly and openly, 
to tell you the intention of my visit.” 

I bowed, and we both returned to our seats. 

“ I will own myself to have been greatly surprised,” continued 
he, “ when I met you yesterday evening, in company with two 
persons who I was sensible merited not the honour of your 
notice : nor was it easy for me to conjecture the cause of your 
being so situated : yet, believe me, my incertitude did not for a 
moment do you injury. I was satisfied that their characters 
must be unknown to you, and I thought with concern of the 
shock you would sustain when you discovered their unworthi- 
ness. I should not, however, upon so short an acquaintance, 
have usurped the privilege of intimacy, in giving my unasked 
sentiments upon so delicate a subject, had I not known that 
credulity is the sister of innocence, and therefore feared you 
might be deceived. A something which I could not resist urged 
me to the freedom I have taken to caution you ; but I shall not 
easily forgive myself if I have been so unfortunate as to give you 
pain.” 

. The pride which his first question had excited now subsided 
into delight and gratitude ; and I instantly related to him as well 
as I could, the accident which had occasioned my Joining the 
unhappy women with whom he had met me.. He listened with 
an attention so flattering, seemed so much interested during the 
recital, and, when I had done, thanked me in terms so polite, for 
what he was pleased to call my condescension, that I was almost 
ashamed either to look at or hear him. 

Soon after the maid came to tell me that Madame Duval 
desired to have breakfast made in her own room. 

12 ^ 


274 : 


EVELINA. 


“ I fear,” cried Lord Orville, instantly rising, “ that I have 
intruded upon your time ; — yet who so situated could do other- 
wise ?” Then taking my hand, “ Will Miss Anville allow me thus 
to seal ray peace ?” he pressed it to his lips, and took leave. 

Generous, noble Lord Orville ! how disinterested his conduct ! 
how delicate his whole behaviour ? willing to advise, yet afraid 
to wound me ! Can I ever, in future, regret the adventure I 
met with at Marybone, since it has been productive of a visit so 
flattering ? Had my mortifications been still more humiliating, 
my terrors still more alarming, such a mark of esteem — may I not 
call it so ? from Lord Orville, would have made me ample 
amends. 

And indeed, my dear sir, I require some consolation in my pre- 
sent very disagreeable situation ; for, since he went, two incidents 
have happened, that had not my spirits been particularly elated, 
would greatly have disconcerted me. 

During breakfast, Madame Duval very abruptly asked if I 
should like to be married ! and added, that Mr. Branghton had 
been proposing a match for me with his son, Surprised, and, I 
must own provoked, I assured her that, in thinking of me, Mr. 
Branghton would very vainly lose his time. 

“ Why,” cried she, “ I have had grander views for you myself, if 
once I could get you to Paris, and make you be owmed ; but if I 
can’t do that and you can do no better, why as you are both my 
relations, I think to leave my fortune between you ; and then, if 
you marry, you never need want for nothing.” 

I begged her not to pursue the subject, as I assured her, Mr. 
Branghton was totally disagreeable to me : but she continued 
her admonitions and reflections, with’ her usual disregard of what- 
ever I could answer. She charged me very peremptorily, neither 
wholly to discourage nor yet to accept Mr. Branghton’s ofter, till 
she saw what could be done for me. The young man, she 
added, had often intended to speak to me himself, but, not well 
knowing how to introduce the subject, he had desired her to 
pave the way for him. 

I scrupled not warml^^ and freely to declare my aversion to 


EVELINA. 


275 


this proposal ; but it was to no effect ; she concluded just as she 
had begun, by saying that I should not have him, if I could do 
better. 

Nothing, however, shall persuade me to listen to any other 
concerning this odious affair. 

My second cause of uneasiness arises, very unexpectedly, from 
M. du Bois ; who, to my infinite surprise, upon Madame Duval’s 
quitting the room after dinner, put into my hand a note, and 
immediately left the house. 

This note contains an open declaration of an attachment to 
me ; which he says, he should never have presumed to have 
acknowledged, had he not been informed that Madame Duval 
destined my hand to young Branghton — a match which he 
cannot endure to think of. He beseeches me earnestly to par- 
don his temerity ; professes the most inviolable respect, and 
commits his fate to time, patience, and pity. 

This conduct in M. du Bois gives me real concern, as I was 
disposed to think very well of him. It will not, however, be 
diflicult to discourage him ; and, therefore, I shall not acquaint 
Madame Duval of his letter, as I have reason to believe it would 
greatly displease her. 


LETTER LV. 


Evelina in continuation. 


July 8. 

0, SIR, how much uneasiness must I suffer to counterbalance 
one short morning of happiness. 

Yesterday the Branghtons proposed a party to Kensington 
Gardens ; and, as usual, Madame Duval insisted upon my attend- 
ance. 

We went in a hackney-coach to Piccadilly, and then had a 
walk through Hyde Park ; which, in any other company, would 
have been delightful. I was much pleased with Kensington 
Gardens, and think them infinitely preferable to those of Vaux- 
hall. 


276 


EVELINA. 


Young Branghton was extremely troublesome ; be insisted 
upon walking by my side, and talked with me almost by compul- 
sion : however, my reserve and coldness prevented his entering 
upon the hateful subject which Madame Duval had prepared me 
to apprehend. Once, indeed, when I was accidentally a few 
yards before the rest, he said, “ I suppose, miss, aunt has told 
you about — you know what ? ha’n’t she, miss ?” But I turned 
from him without making any answer. Neither Mr. Smith nor 
Mr. Brown were of the party ; and poor M. du Bois, when he 
found that I avoided him, looked so melancholy, that 1 was 
really sorry for him. 

While we were strolling round the garden I perceived, walk- 
ing with a party of ladies at some distance. Lord Orville ! I 
instantly retreated behind Miss Branghton, and kept out of sight 
till we had passed him ; for I dreaded being seen by him again 
in a public walk with a party of which I was ashamed. 

Happily, I succeeded in my design, and saw no more of him ; 
for a sudden and violent shower of rain made us all hasten out 
of the gardens. We ran till we came to a small green-shop, 
where we begged shelter. Here we found ourselves in company 
with two footmen, whom the rain had driven into the shop. 
Their livery I thought I had before seen ; and, upon looking 
from the window, I perceived the same upon a coachman belong- 
ing to a carriage, which I immediately recollected to be Lord 
Orville’s. 

Fearing to be known, I whispered Miss Branghton not to 
speak my name. Had I considered but a moment I should have 
been sensible of the inutility of such a caution, since not one of 
the party call me by any other appellation than that of cousin 
or of miss ; but I am perpetually involved in some distress or 
dilemma from ray own heedlessness. 

This request excited very strongly her curiosity : and she 
attacked me with such eagerness and bluntness of inquiry, that I 
could not avoid telling her the reason of my making it, and, con- 
sequently, that I was known to Lord Orville ; an acknowledg- 
ment which proved the most unfortunate in the world ; for she 


EVELINA. 


'277 


would not rest till she had drawn from me the circumstances 
attending my first making the acquaintance. Then, calling to 
her sister, she said, “ Lord, Polly, only think ! Miss has danced 
with a lord !” 

“ Well,” cried Polly, “ that’s a thing I should never have 
thought of! And pray, miss, what did he say to you ?” 

This question was much sooner asked than answered; and 
they both became so very inquisitive and earnest, that they soon 
drew the attention of Madame Duval and the rest of the party ; 
to whom, in a very short time, they repeated all they had 
gathered from me. 

“ Goodness, then,” cried young Branghton, “ if I was miss, if I 
wouldn’t make free with his lordship’s coach to take me to 
town.” 

“ Why, ay,” said the father, “ there would be some sense in 
that ; that would be making some use of a lord’s acquaintance, 
for it would save us coach-hire.” 

“ Lord, miss,” cried Polly, “ I wish you would ; for I should 
like of all things to ride in a coronet-coach.” 

“ I promise you,” said Madame Duval, “ I’m glad you’ve 
thought of it, for I don’t see no objection ; — so let’s have the 
coachman called.” 

“ Not for the world,” cried I, very much alarmed ; “ indeed it 
is utterly impossible.” 

“ Why so ?” demanded Mr. Branghton : “ pray, where’s the 
good of your knowing a lord, if you’re never the better for 
him ?” 

“ Ma foi, child,” said Madame Duval, “ you don’t know no 
more of the world than if you was a baby. Pray, sir,” (to one 
of the footmen), “ tell that coachman to draw up, for I wants to 
speak to him.” 

The man stared, but did not move. “ Pray, pray, madam,” 
said I, “ pray, Mr. Branghton, have the goodness to give up this 
plan ; I know but very little of his lordship, and cannot, upon 
any account, take so great a liberty.” 

“ Don’t say nothing about it,” said Madame Duval, “ for I 


278 


EVELINA. 


shall have it my own way ; so if you won’t call the coachman, 
sir, I’ll promise you I’ll call him myself.” 

The footman, very impertinently, laughed, and turned upon 
his heel. Madame Duval, extremely irritated, ran out in the 
rain, and beckoned the coachman, who instantly obeyed her 
summons. Shocked beyond all expression I flew after her, and 
entreated her, with the utmost earnestness, to let us return in a 
hackney-coach : — but, oh ! she is impenetrable to persuasion I 
She told the man she wanted him to carry her directly to town, 
and that she would answer for him to Lord Orville. The man, 
with a sneer, thanked her, but said he should answer for himself; 
and was driving off, when another footman came up to him, with 
information that his lord was gone into Kensington Palace, and 
would not want him for an hour or two. 

“Why, then, friend,” said Mr, Branghton (for we were fol- 
lowed by all the party), “ where will be the great harm of your 
taking us to town ?” 

“ Besides,” said the son, “ I’ll promise you a pot of beer for 
my own share.” 

These speeches had no other answer from the coachman than 
a loud laugh, which was echoed by the insolent footman. I 
rejoiced at their resistance ; though I was certain that, if their 
lord had witnessed their impertinence, they would have been 
instantly dismissed his service. 

“Pardi,” cried Madame Duval, “if I don’t think all the foot- 
men are the most impudentest fellows in the kingdom ! But I’ll 
promise you I’ll have your master told of your airs ; so you’ll 
get no good by ’em.” 

“ Why, pray,” said the coachman, rather alarmed, “ did my 
lord give you leave to use the coach ?” 

“It’s no matter for that,” answered she; “I’m sure if he’s a 
gentleman, he’d let us have it sooner than we should be wet to 
the skin; but I’ll promise you he shall know how saucy you 
have been, for this young lady knows him very well.” 

“ Ay, that she does,” said Miss Polly ; “ and she’s danced with 
him too.” 


EVELINA. 


279 


Ob, bow I repented my foolisb mismanagement ! Tbe men 
bit tbeir lips, and looked at one another in some confusion. This 
was perceived by our party ; wbo, taking advantage of it, pro- 
tested they would write to Lord Orville word of tbeir ill-beha- 
viour without delay. This quite startled them ; and one of the 
footmen offered to run to the palace, and ask his lord’s permission 
for our having the carriage. 

This proposal really made me tremble, and the Branghtons all 
hung back upon it ; but Madame Duval is never to be dissuaded 
from a scheme she has once formed. “Do so,” cried she; “and 
give this child’s compliments to your master ; and tell him, as 
we ha’n’t no coach here, we should be glad to go just as far as 
Holborn in his.” 

“No, no, no,” cried I; “don’t go, — I know nothing of his 
lordship, — I send no message, — I have nothing to say to him !” 

The men, very much perplexed, could with difficulty restrain 
themselves from resuming their impertinent mirth. Madame 
Duval scolded me very angrily, and then desired them to go 
directly. “Pray, then,” said the coachman, “what name is to 
be given to my lord ?” 

“ Anville,” answered Madame Duval ; “ tell him Miss Anville 
wants the coach ; the young lady he danced with once.” 

I was really in an agony ; but the winds could not have been 
more deaf to me than those to whom I pleaded : and therefore 
the footman, urged by the repeated threats of Madame Duval, 
and perhaps recollecting the name himself, actually went to the 
palace with this strange message ! 

He returned in a few minutes ; and bowing to me with the 
greatest respect, said, “ My lord desires his compliments, and his 
carriage will be always at Miss Anville’s service.” 

I was so much affected by this politeness, and chagrined at 
the whole affair, that I could scarce refrain from tears. Madame 
Duval and the Misses Branghton eagerly jumped into the coach, 
and desired me to follow. I Would rather have submitted to the 
severest punishment ; but all resistance was vain. 

During the whole ride I said not a word ; however, the rest 


280 


EVELINA. 


of the party were so talkative that my silence was very imma- 
terial. We stopped at our lodgings; hut when Madame Duval 
and I alighted, the Branghtons asked if they could not be carried 
on to Snow-hill ? The servants, now all civility, made no objec- 
tion. Remonstrances from me would, I too well knew, be fruit- 
less ; and therefore, with a heavy heart, I retired to my room, 
and left them to their own direction. 

Seldom have T passed a night in greater uneasiness. So lately 
to have cleared myself in the good opinion of Lord Orville,— so 
soon to forfeit it ! — to give him reason to suppose I presumed to 
boast of his acquaintance ! — to publish his having danced 
with me ! — to take with him a liberty I should have blushed to 
have taken with the most intimate of my friends ! — to treat with 
such impertinent freedom one who has honoured me with 
such distinguished respect ! — indeed, sir, I could have met with 
no accident that would so cruelly have tormented me ! 

If such were, then, my feelings, imagine, — for I cannot describe, 
— what I suffered during the scene I am now going to write. 

This morning, while I was alone in the dining-room, young 
Branghton called. He entered with a most important air; 
and strutting up to me, said, “ Miss, Lord Orville sends his com- 
pliments to you.” 

“ Lord Orville !” repeated I, much amazed. 

“ Yes, miss. Lord Orville ; for I know his lordship now, 
as well as you. And a very civil gentleman he is, for all 
he’s a lord.” 

“ For Heaven’s sake,” cried I, “ explain yourself!” 

“ Why, you must know, miss, after we left you, we met with a 
little misfortune ; but I don’t mind it now, for it’s all turned 
out for the best; but just as we were a-going up Snow-hill, 
plump we comes against a cart, with such a jog it almost pulled 
the coach-wheel oflf. However, that ain’t the worst ; for, as 
I went to open the door in a hurry, a-thinking the coach would 
be broke down, as ill-luck would have it, I never minded 
that the glass was up, and so I poked my head fairly through it. 
Only see, miss, how I’ve cut my forehead 1” 


EVELINA. 


281 


A much worse accident to himself would not, I believe, at that 
moment have given me any concern for Him ; however, he pro- 
ceeded with his account, for I was too much confounded 
to interrupt him. 

“ Goodness, miss, we were in such a stew, us, and the ser- 
vants, and all, as you can’t think ; for, besides the glass being 
broke, the coachman said how the coach wouldn’t be safe to go 
back to Kensington. So we didn’t know what to do ; however, 
the footman said they’d go and tell his lordship what had hap- 
pened. So then father grew quite uneasy like, for fear of 
his lordship’s taking offence, and prejudicing us in our business ; 
80 he said I should go this morning and ask his pardon, 
’cause of having broke the glass. So then I asked the footmen 
the direction, and they told me he lived in Berkeley- square ; so 
this morning I went, — and I soon found out the house.” 

“You did ?” cried I, quite out of breath with apprehension. 

“ Yes, miss, and a very fine house it is. Did you ever 
see it ?” 

“ No.” 

“ Ko ! — why, then, miss, I know more of his lordship than 
you do, for all you knew him first. So, when I came to the door, 
I was in a peck of troubles, a-thinking what I should say to him : 
however, the servants had no mind I should see him ; for they 
told me he was busy, but I might leave my message. So I was 
just a-coming away, when I bethought myself to say I came 
from you.” 

“ From me 

“ Yes, miss, for you know, why should I have such a 
long walk as that for nothing ? So I says to the porter, says I, 
Tell his lordship, says I, one wants to speak to him as 
comes from one Miss Anville, says 1 .” 

“ Good God !” cried I, “ and by what authority did you take 
such a liberty ?” 

“Goodness, miss, don’t be in such a hurry, for you’ll be 
as glad as me when you hear how well it all turned out. 
So then they made way for me, and said his lordship would see 


282 


EVELINA. 


me directly : and there I was led through such a heap of 
servants, and so many rooms, that my heart quite misgave me ; 
for I thought, thinks I, he’ll be so proud he’ll hardly let me 
speak ; but he’s no more proud than I am, and he was as civil as 
if I’d been a lord myself. So then 1 said I hoped he wouldn’t 
take it amiss about the glass, for it was quite an accident ; but he 
bid me not mention it, for it did not signify. And then he said 
he hoped you got safe home, and wasn’t frightened ; and 
so I said yes, and I gave your duty to him.” 

“ My duty to him !” exclaimed I, — “ and who gave you leave ? 
— who desired you ?” 

“ 0, 1 did it out of my own head, just to make him think I 
came from you. But I should have told you before how 
the footman said he was going out of town to-morrow evening, 
and that his sister was soon to be married, and that he 
was a-ordering a heap of things for that; so it come into 
my head, as he was so affable, that I’d ask him for his custom. 
So I says, says I, My lord, says I, if your lordship ain’t engaged 
particularly, my father is a silversmith, and he’ll be very proud 
to serve you, says I, and Miss Anville as danced with you is his 
cousin, and she’s my cousin too, and she’d be very much 
obligated to you. I’m sure.” 

“ You’ll drive me wild,” cried I, starting from my seat ; “ you 
have done me an irreparable injury; — but I will hear no more !” 
— and then I ran into my own room. 

I was half-frantic ; I really raved ; the good opinion of 
Lord Orville seemed now irretrievably lost : a faint hope, which 
in the morning I had vainly encouraged, that I might see 
him again, and explain the transaction, wholly vanished, now I 
found he was so soon to leave town : and I could not but 
conclude, that, for the rest of my life, he would regard me as an 
object of utter contempt. 

The very idea was a dagger to my heart ! — I could not 
support it, and— but I blush to proceed — I fear your disapproba- 
tion ; yet I should not be conscious of having merited it, but 
that the repugnance I feel to relate to you what I have 


EVELINA. 


283 


done, makes me suspect I must have erred. Will you forgive if 
I own that I first wrote an account of this transaction to 
Miss Mirvan ! — and that I even thought of concealing it from 
you ? Short-lived, however, was the ungrateful idea, and sooner 
will I risk the justice of your displeasure than unworthily betray 
your generous conSdence. 

You are now probably prepared for what follows — which is a 
letter — a hasty letter, that, in the height of my agitation, I wrote 
to Lord Orville. 

“ My Lord, 

“ I am so infinitely ashamed of the application made yester- 
day for your lordship’s carriage in my name, and so greatly shocked 
at hearing how much it was injured, that I cannot forbear writ- 
ing a few lines to clear myself from the imputation of an imper- 
tinence which I blush to be suspected of, and to acquaint you, 
that the request for your carriage was made against ray consent, 
and the visit with which you were importuned this morning 
without my knowledge. 

“ I am inexpressibly concerned at having been the instrument, 
however innocently, of so much trouble to your lordship ; but I 
beg you to believe that the reading these lines is the only part 
of it which I have given voluntarily. 

“ I am, my lord, 

“Your lordship’s most humble servant, 

“Evelina Anville.” 

I applied to the maid of the house to get this note conveyed to 
Berkeley-square ; but scarce had I parted with it before I 
regretted having written at all ; and I was flying down stairs to 
recover it, when the voice of Sir Clement Willoughby stopped 
me. As Madame Duval had ordered we should be denied 
to him, T was obliged to return up-stairs ; and after he was gone 
my application was too late, as the maid had ‘given it to a 
porter. 

My time did not pass very serenely while he was gone ; how- 


284 


EVELINA. 


ever, he brought me no answer, but that Lord Orville was not at 
home. Whether or not he will take the trouble to send any, — 
or whether he will condescend to call, or whether the affair will 
rest as it is, 1 know not; — but, in being ignorant, am most 
cruelly anxious. 


LETTER LVI. 

JEvelina in continuation. 

July 4. 

You may now, my dear sir, send Mrs. Clinton for your 
Evelina, with as much speed as she can conveniently make the 
journey, for no further opposition will be made to her leaving 
this town : happy had it perhaps been for her had she never 
entered it ! 

This morning Madame Duval desired me to go to Snow-hill, 
with an invitation to the Branghtons and Mr. Smith to spend the 
evening with her ; and she desired M. du Bois, who breakfasted 
with us, to accompany me. I was very unwilling to obey her, as 
I neither wished to walk with M. du Bois, nor yet to meet young 
Branghton, And, indeed, another, a yet more powerful reason 
added to my reluctance ; — for I thought it possible that Lord 
Orville might send some answer, or perhaps might call during 
my absence : however, I did not dare dispute her commands. 

Poor M. du Bois spoke not a word during our walk, which was, 
I believe, equally unpleasant to us both. We found all the 
family assembled in the shop. Mr. Smith, the moment he 
perceived me, addressed himself to Miss Branghton, whom he 
entertained with all the gallantry in his power. I rejoice to find 
that my conduct at the Hampstead ball has had so good an effect. 
But young Branghton was extremely troublesome ; he repeatedly 
laughed in my face, and looked so impertinently significant, that 
I was obliged to give up my reserve to M. du Bois, and enter into 
conversation with him merely to avoid such boldness. 

“ Miss,” said Mr. Branghton, “ Pm sorry to hear from my son 


EVELINA. 


285 


that you wasn’t pleased with what we did about that Lord Orville ; 
but I should like to know what it was you found hmlt with, for 
we did all for the best.” 

“Goodness!” cried the son, “why, if you’d seen, miss, you’d 
have been surprised — she went out of the room quite in a huff, 
like ” 

“ It is too late, now,” said I, “ to reason upon this subject ; but, 
for the future, I must take the liberty to request that my name 
may never be made use of without my knowledge. May I tell 
Madame Duval that you will do her the favour to accept her 
invitation ?” 

“ As to me, ma’am,” said Mr. Smith, “ I am much obliged to 
the old lady, but I have no mind to be taken in by her again ; 
you’ll excuse me, ma’am.” 

All the rest promised to come, and I then took leave ; but, as 
I left the shop, I heard Mr. Branghton say, “take courage, Tom, 
she’s only coy.” And before I had walked ten yards the youth 
followed. 

I was so much offended that I would not look at him, but 
began to converse with M. du Bois, who was now more lively 
than I had ever before seen him : for, most unfortunately, he mis- 
interpreted the reason of my attention to him. 

The first intelligence I received when I come home was, that 
two gentlemen had called, and left cards. 1 eagerly inquired for 
them, and read the names of Lord Orville and Sir Clement Wil- 
loughby. I by no means regretted that I missed seeing the latter, 
but perhaps I may all my life regret that I missed the former ; 
for probably he has now left town, — and I may see him no more. 

“ My goodness 1” cried young Branghton, rudely looking over 
me, “ only think of that lord’s coming all this way 1 It’s my 
belief he’d got some order ready for father, and so he’d a mind 
to call and ask you if I’d told him the truth.” 

“Pray, Betty,” said I, “ how long has he been gone ?” 

“ Not two minutes, ma’am.” 

“ Why, then. I’ll lay you any wager,” said young Branghton, 
“ he saw you and I a-walking up Holborn hill.” 


286 


EVELINA. 


“ God forbid !” cried I, impatiently ; and, too much chagrined 
to bear any more of his remarks, I ran up-stairs ; but I heard 
him say to M. du Bois, “ Miss is so uppish this morning, that I 
think I had better not speak to her again.” 

I wish M. du Bois had taken the same resolution ; but he 
chose to follow me into the dining-room, which he found empty. 

“ Vous ne Vaiwez pas done ce gargon^ mademoiselle P' cried he. 

“ Me !” cried I, “ no, I detest him !” for I was sick at heart. 

“ Ah^ tu me rends la vie cried he ; and, flinging himself at 
my feet, he had just caught my hand as the door was opened by 
Madame Duval. 

Hastily, and with marks of guilty confusion in his face, he 
rose ; but the rage of that lady quite amazed me ! Advancing 
to the retreating M. du Bois, she began, in French, an attack, 
which her extreme wrath and w'onderful volubility almost 
rendered unintelligible; yet I understood but too much, since 
her reproaches convinced me she had herself proposed being the 
object of his affection. 

He defended himself in a weak and evasive manner, and upon 
her commanding him from her sight, very readily withdrew : and 
then, with yet greater violence, she upbraided me with having 
seduced his heart, called me an ungrateful, designing girl, and 
protested she would neither take me to Paris, nor any more 
interest herself in my affairs, unless I would instantly agree to 
marry young Branghton. 

Frightened as I had been at her vehemence, this proposal 
restored all my courage ; and I frankly told her that in this point I 
never could obey her. More irritated than ever, she ordered me 
to quit the room. 

Such is the present situation of affairs, I shall excuse myself 
from seeing the Branghtons this afternoon : indeed, I never wish 
to see them again. I am sorry, however innocently, that I have 
displeased Madame Duval ; yet I shall be very glad to quit this 
town, for I believe it does not now contain one person I ever wish 
again to meet. Had I but seen Lord Orville, I should regret 
nothing : 1 could then have more fully explained what I so 


EVELINA. 


287 


hastily wrote ; yet it will always be a pleasure to me to recollect 
that he called, since I flatter myself it was in consequence of his 
being satisfied with my letter. 

Adieu, my dear sir ; the time now approaches when I hope 
once more to receive your blessing, and to owe all my joy, all my 
happiness to your kindness. 

LETTER LVII. 

Mr. Villars to Evelina. 


Berry Hill, July 7. 

Welcome, thrice welcome, my darling Evelina, to the arms of 
the truest, and fondest of your friends ! Mrs. Clinton, who shall 
hasten to you with these lines, will conduct you directly hither; 
for I can consent no longer to be parted from the child of my 
bosom ! the comfort of my age ! the sweet solace of all my infir- 
mities ! Your worthy friends at Howard Grove must pardon me 
that I rob them of the visit you proposed to make them before 
your return to Berry Hill, for I find my fortitude unequal to a 
longer separation. 

I have much to say to you, 'many comments to make upon 
your late letters, some parts of which give me no little uneasi- 
ness ; but I will reserve my remarks for our future conversations. 
Hasten, then, to the spot of thy nativity, the abode of thy youth, 
where never yet care or sorrow had power to annoy thee. O 
that they might ever be banished this peaceful dwelling ! 

Adieu, my dearest Evelina I I pray but that thy satisfaction 
at our approaching meeting may bear any comparison with 
mine ! 


Arthur Villars. 


288 


EVELINA. 


LETTER LYIII. 

Evelina to Miss Mirvan. 

Berry Hill, July 14 

My sweet Maria will be much surprised and, I am willing to 
flatter myself, concerned, when, instead of her friend, she receives 
this letter ; this cold, this inanimate letter, which will but ill 
express the feelings of the heart which indites it. 

When I wrote to you last Friday, I was in hourly expectation 
of seeing Mrs. Clinton, with whom' I intended to have set out for 
Howard Grove. Mrs. Clinton came ; but my plan was neces- 
sarily altered, for ^e brought me a letter, — the sweetest that ever 
was penned, from the best and kindest friend that ever orphan 
was blessed with, — requiring my immediate attendance at Berry 
Hill. 

I obeyed, — and pardon me if I own I obeyed without reluct- 
ance, after so long a separation : should I not else have been the 
most ungrateful of mortals ? — And yet, — oh, Maria ! though I 
wished to leave London, the gratification of my wish afforded me 
no happiness ! and though I felt an impatience inexpressible to 
return hither, no words, no language can explain the heaviness 
of heart with which I made the journey. I believe you would 
hardly have known me ; indeed, I hardly know myself. Perhaps 
had I first seen yoti, in your kind and sympathizing bosom I 
might have ventured to have reposed every secret of my soul 
and then — but let me pursue my journal. 

Mrs. Clinton delivered Madame Duval a letter from Mr. Villars 
which requested her leave for my return ; and, indeed, it was 
very readily accorded : yet, when she found, by my willingness 
to quit town, that M. du Bois was really indifferent to me, she 
somewhat softened in my favour ; and declared, that, but for 
punishing his folly in thinking of such a child, she would not 
have consented to my being again buried in the country. 

All the Branghtons called to take leave of me ; but I will not 


EVELIl^A. 


289 


write a word more about them : indeed I cannot, with any 
patience, think of that family, to whose forwardness and imper- 
tinence is owing all the uneasiness I at this moment suffer ! 

So great was the depression of my spirits upon the road, that 
it was with difficulty I could persuade the worthy Mrs. Clinton 
I was not ill ; but, alas ! the situation of my mind was such as 
would have rendered any mere bodily pain, by comparison, even 
enviable ? 

And yet, when we arrived at Berry Hill, — when the chaise 
stopped at this place, — how did my heart throb with joy ! — and 
when, through the window, I beheld the dearest, the most ven- 
erable of men, with uplifted hands, returning, as I doubt not, 
thanks for my safe arrival, — good God ! I thought it would 
have burst my bosom ! — I opened the chaise-door myself ; I flew 
— for my feet did not seem to touch the ground — into the par- 
lour : he had risen to meet me ; but the moment I appeared he 
sunk into his chair, uttering with a deep sigh, though his face 
beamed with delight, “ My God, I thank thee !” 

1 sprung forward ; and, with a pleasure that bordered upon 
agony, I embraced his knees, I kissed his hands, I wept over 
them, but could, not speak : while he, now raising his eyes in 
thankfulness towards heaven, now bowing down his reverend 
head, and folding me in his arms, could scarce articulate the 
blessings with which his kind and benevolent heart overflowed. 

O, Miss Mirvan, to be so loved by the best of men, — should I 
not be happy ? — Should I have one wish save that of meriting his 
goodness ? — yet think me not ungrateful ; indeed I am not, al- 
though the internal sadness of my mind unfits me, at present, for 
enjoying as I ought the bounties of Providence. 

I cannot journalize, cannot arrange my ideas into order. 

How little has situation to do with happiness ! I had flattered 
myself that when restored to Berry Hill, I should be restored to 
tranquillity : far otherwise have I found it, for never yet had tran- 
quillity and Evelina so little intercourse. 

I blush for what I have written. Can you, Maria, forgive my 
gravity ? But I restrain it so much and so painfully in the pre- 

13 


290 


EVELINA. 


sence of Mr. Villars, that I know not how to deny myself the 
consolation of indulging it to you. 

Adieu, my dear Miss Mirvan. 

Yet one thing I must add : do not let the seriousness of this 
letter deceive you ; do not impute to a wrong cause the melan- 
choly I confess, by supposing that the heart of your friend 
mourns a top great susceptibility : no, indeed ! believe me it 
never was, never can be more assuredly her own than at this 
moment. So witness in all truth, 

Your affectionate 

Evelina. 

You will make my excuses to the honoured Lady Howard, and 
to your dear mother. 


LETTER LIX. 

Evelina in continuation. 

Berry Hill, July 21. 

You accuse me of mystery, and charge me with reserve : I can- 
not doubt but I must have merited the accusation ; yet, to clear 
myself, you know not how painful will be the task. But I can- 
not resist your kind entreaties ; indeed, I do not wish to resist 
them ; for your friendship and affection will soothe my chagrim 
Had it arisen from any other cause, not a moment would I have 
deferred the communication you ask ; but as it is, I would, were 
it possible, not only conceal it from all the world, but endeavour 
to disbelieve it myself. Yet since I must tell you, why trifle 
with your impatience. 

I know not how to come to the point ; twenty times have I 
attempted it in vain ; but I will force myself to proceed. 

Oh, Miss Mirvan, could you ever have believed, that one who 
seemed formed as a pattern for his fellow-creatures, as a model 
of perfection, — one whose elegance surpassed all description, — 
whose sweetness of manners disgraced all comparison ; oh. Miss 


EVELINA. 


291 


Mirvan, could you ever have believed that Lord Orville would 
have treated me with indignity. 

Never, never again will I trust to appearances ; never confide 
in my own weak judgment ; never believe that person to be 
good who seems to be amiable ! What cruel maxims are we 
taught by a knowledge of the world ! But while ray own reflec- 
tions absorb me, I forget you are still in suspense. 

I had just finished the last letter which I wrote to you from 
London, when the maid of the house brought me a note. -It was 
given to her, she said, by a footman, who told her he would call 
the next day for an answer. 

This note, — but let it speak for itself. 

“ To Miss Anville 

“ With transport, most charming of thy sex, did I read the let- 
ter with which you yesterday morning favoured me. I am sorry 
the affair of the carriage should have given you any concern, but 
I am highly flattered by the anxiety you express so kindly. 
Believe me, my lovely girl, I am truly sensible of the honour of 
your good opinion, and feel myself deeply penetrated with love 
and gratitude. The correspondence you have so sweetly com- 
menced I shall be proud of continuing ; and I hope the strong 
sense I have of the favour you do me will prevent your with- 
drawing it. Assure yourself, that I desire nothing more ardently 
than to pour forth my thanks at your feet, and to offer those 
vows which are so justly the tribute of your charms and accom- 
plishments. In your next, I entreat you to acquaint me how 
Jong you shall remain in town, The servant, whom I shall com- 
mission to call for an answer, has orders to ride post with it to 
me. My impatience for his arrival will be very great, though 
inferior to that wdth which I burn to tell you in person how 
much I am, my sweet girl, you grateful admirer, 

“ Orville.” 

What a letter ! how was my proud heart swelled every line I 
have copied ! What I wrote to him you know ; tell me then, my 


292 


EVELINA. 


dear friend, do you think it merited such an answer ? and that 
I have deservedly incurred the liberty he has taken ? I meant 
nothing but a simple apology, which I thought as much due to 
my own character as to his ; yet, by the construction he seems 
to have put upon it, should you not have imagined it contained 
the avowal of sentiments which might indeed have provoked his 
contempt ? , 

The moment the letter was delivered to me I retired to my 
own room to read it ; and so eager was my first perusal, that, I am 
ashamed to own, it gave me no sensation but of delight. Unsus- 
picious of any impropriety from Lord Orville, I perceived not im- 
mediately the impertinence it implied, I only marked the expres- 
sions of his own regard ; and I was so much surprised that I was 
unable for some time to compose myself, or read it again : I 
could only walk up and down the room, repeating to myself 
“Good God, is it possible? am 1 then loved by Lord Orville?” 

But this dream was soon over, and I awoke to far different 
feelings. Upon a second reading I thought every word changed, 
it did not seem the same letter, I could not find one sentence 
that I could look at without blushing : my astonishment was ex- 
treme, and it was succeeded by the utmost indignation. 

If, as I am very ready to acknowledge, I erred in writing to 
Lord Orville, was it for him to punish the error ? If he was 
oflFended, could he not have been silent ? If he thought my let- 
ter ill-judged,' should he not have pitied iny ignorance, have con- 
sidered my youth, and allowed for my inexperience? 

Oh, Maria ! how have I been deceived in this man ! Words 
have no power to tell the high opinion I had of him : to that 
was owing the unfortunate solicitude which prompted my writ- 
ing ; a solicitude I must for ever repent ! 

Yet perhaps I have rather reason to rejoice than to grieve^ 
since this affair has shown me his real disposition, and removed 
that partiality which, covering his every imperfection, left only 
his virtues and good qualities exposed to view. Had the decep- 
tion continued much longer, had my mind received any addi- 
tional prejudice in his favour, who knows whither my mistaken 


EVELINA. 


293 


ideas might have led me ? Indeed, I fear I was in greater dan- 
ger than I apprehended, or can now think of without trembling ; 
for, oh, if this weak heart of mine had been penetrated with too 
deep an impression of his merit, my peace and happiness had 
been lost for ever ! 

I would fain encourage more cheerful thoughts, fain drive 
from my mind the melancholy that has taken possession of it : 
but I cannot succeed : for, added to the humiliating feelings 
which so powerfully oppress me, I have yet another cause of con- 
cern ; alas, my dear Maria, I have broken the tranquillity of the 
best of men ! 

I have never had the courage to show him this cruel letter ; 
I could not bear so greatly to depreciate in his opinion one whom 
I had with infinite anxiety raised in it myself. Indeed, my first 
determination was to confine my chagrin totally to my own 
bosom; but your friendly enquiries have drawn it from me: and 
now I wish I had made no concealment from the beginning, 
since I know not how to account for a gravity which not all my 
endeavours can entirely hide or repress. 

My greatest apprehension is, lest he should imagine that my 
residence in London has given me a distaste to the country. 
Everybody I see takes notice of my being altered, and looking 
pale and ill. I should be very indifferent to all such observa- 
tions, did I not perceive that they draw upon me the eyes of Mr. 
Villars, which glisten with affectionate concern. 

This morning, in speaking of my London expedition, he men- 
tioned Lord Orville. I felt so much disturbed, that I would 
instantly have changed the subject ; but he would not allow me, 
and, very unexpectedly, he began his panegyric, extolling in 
strong terms his manly and honourable behaviour in regard to 
the Marybone adventure. My cheeks glowed with indignation 
eveiy word he spoke ; so lately as I had myself fancied him the 
noblest of his sex, now that I was so well convinced of my mis- 
take, I could not bear to hear his undeserved praises uttered by 
one so really good, so unsuspecting, so pure of heart. 

What he thought of my silence and uneasiness I fear to know ; 


294 


EVELINA. 


but I hope he will mention the subject no more. I will not, 
however, with ungrateful indolence, give way to a sadness which 
I find infectious to him who merits the most cheerful exertion of 
my spirits. I am thankful that he has forborne to probe ray 
wound ; and I will endeavour to heal it by the consciousness 
that I have not deserved the indignity I have received. Yet I 
cannot but lament to find myself in a world so deceitful, where 
we must suspect what we see, distrust what we hear, and doubt 
eVen what we feel ! 


LETTER LX. 

Evelina in continuation. 

Berry Hill, July 29. 

I MUST own myself somewhat distressed how to answer your 
raillery : yet believe me, my dear Maria, your suggestions are 
these of fancy^ not of truth. I am unconscious of the weak- 
ness you suspect ; yet, to dispel your doubts, I will animate my- 
self more than ever to conquer my chagrin, and to recover my 
spirits. 

You wonder, you say, since my heart takes no part in this 
aflfair, why it should make me so unhappy. And can you, 
acquainted as you are with the high opinion I entertained of 
Lord Orville, — can you wonder that so great a disappointment 
in his character should affect me ? Indeed, had so strange a 
letter been sent to me from anybody., it could not have failed 
shocking me : how much more sensibly, then, must I feel such 
an affront when received from the man in the world I had 
imagined least capable of giving it ! 

You are glad I made no reply : assure yourself, my dear 
friend, had this letter been the most respectful that could bo 
written, the clandestine air given to it by his proposal of send- 
ing his servant for my answer, instead of having it directed to 
his house, would effectually have prevented my writing. Indeed, 
I have an aversion the most sincere to all mysteries, all private 


EVELINA. 


295 


actions ; however foolishly and blaraeably, in regard to this letter, 
I have deviated from the open path which from my earliest 
infancy I was taught to tread. 

He talks of my having commenced a correspondence with him ; 
and could Lord Orville indeed believe I had such a design ? 
believe me so forward, so bold, so strangely ridiculous ? 1 know 

not if his man called or not; but I rejoice that I quitted Lon- 
don before he came, and without leaving any message for him. 
What, indeed, could I have said ? It would hare been a con- 
descension very unmerited to have taken any, the least notice of 
such a letter. 

Never shall I cease to wonder how he could write it. Oh, 
Maria ! what, what could induce him so causelessly to wound 
and affront one who would sooner have died than wilfully 
offended kirn ? — How mortifying a freedom of style ! how cruel 
an implication conveyed by his thanks and expressions of grati- 
tude ! Is it not astonishing that any man can appeoj' so modest 
who is so vain ? 

Every hour I regret the secrecy I have observed with my 
beloved Mr. Villars. I know not what bewitched me, but I felt 
at first a repugnance to publishing this affair that I could not 
surmount ; and now I am ashamed of confessing that I have any 
thing to confess! Yet I deserve to be punished for the false 
delicacy which occasioned my silence, since, if Lord Orville him- 
self was contented to forfeit his character, was it for me, almost 
at the expense of my own, to support it ? 

Yet I believe I should be very easy, now the first shock is 
over, and now that I see the whole affair with the resentment it 
merits, did not all my good friends in this neighbourhood, who 
think me extremely altered, tease me about my gravity, and tor- 
ment Mr. Villars with observations upon my dejection and fal- 
ling away. The subject is no sooner started than a deep gloom 
overspreads his venerable countenance, and he looks at me with 
a tenderness so melancholy, that I know not how to endure the 
consciousness of exciting it. 

Mrs. Selwyn, a lady of large fortune, who lives about three 


296 


EVEIJNA. 


miles from Berry Hill, and wlio lias always honoured me with 
very distinguishing marks of regard, is going in a short time to 
Bristol, and has proposed to Mr. Villars to take me with her for 
the recovery of my health. He seemed very much distressed 
whether to consent or refuse; but I, without any hesitation, 
warmly opposed the scheme, protesting my health could nowhere ^ 
he better than in this pure air. He had the goodness to thank 
me for this readiness to stay with him ; but he is all goodness ! 
O that it were in my power to be indeed what, in the kindness 
of his heart, he has called me, — the comfort of his age and solace 
of his infirmities! 

Never do I wish to be again separated from him. If here I 
am grave, elsewhere I should be unhappy. In his presence, with 
a very little exertion, all the cheerfulness of my disposition 
seems ready to return : the benevolence of his countenance 
reanimates, the harmony of his temper composes, the purity of 
his character edifies me ! I owe to him everything ! and far 
from finding my debt of gratitude a w'eight, the first pride, the 
first pleasure of my life is the recollection of the obligations con- 
ferred upon me by a goodness so unequalled. 

Once, indeed, I thought there existed another, who, when 
time had wintered o'er his locks, would have shone forth among 
his fellow-creatures with the same brightness of worth w'hich 
dignifies my honoured Mr. Villars ; — a brightness how superior 
in value to ■ that which results from a mere quickness of parts, 
wit, or imagination! — a brightness which, not contented with 
merely diffusing smiles, and gaining admiration from the sallies 
of the spirits reflects a real and a glorious lustre upon all man- 
kind ! Oh, how great was my error ! how ill did I judge ! how 
cruelly have I been deceived ! 

I will not go to Bristol, though Mrs. Selwyn is very urgent 
with me ; — but I desire not to see any more of the world ! The 
few months I have already passed in it have sufliced to give me 
a disgust even to its name. 

I hope, too, I shall see Lord Orville no more. Accustomed, 
from my first knowledge of him, to regard him as a being superior 


EVELINA. 


297 


to his race^ his presence, perhaps, might banish my resentment, 
and I might forget his ill conduct ; for oh, Maria ! I should not 
know how to see Lord Orville^ and to think of displeasure ! 

As a sister I loved him ; I could have intrusted him with 
every thought of my heart had he deigned to wish my confi- 
dence ; so steady did I think his honour, so feminine his delicacy^ 
and so amiable his nature ! I have a thousand times imagined 
that the whole study of his lifer and whole purport of his reflec- 
tions tended solely to the good and happiness of others : but I 
will talk — write — think of him no more ! 

Adieu, my dear friend ! 


LETTER LXI. 

Evelina in continuation. 

Berry Hill, August 10. 

You complain of my silence, my dear Miss Mirvan, but what 
have I to write? Narrative does riot offer, nor does a lively 
imagination supply the deficiency. I have, however, at present, 
sufficient matter for a letter in relating a conversation I had yes- 
terday with Mr. Villars. 

Our breakfast had been the most cheerful^ we have had since 
my return hither ; and when' it was over, he did not, as usual, 
retire to his study, but continued to converse with me while I 
worked. We might probably have passed all the morning thus 
sociably but for the entrance of a farmer, who came to solicit 
advice concerning some domestic affairs. They withdrew to- 
gether into the study. 

The moment I was alone my spirits failed me ; the exertion 
with which I had supported them had fatigued my mind ; I 
flung away my work, and leaning my arms on the table, gave 
way to a train of disagreeable reflections, which, bursting from 
the restraint that had smothered them, filled me with unusual 
sadness. 

This was my situation, when, looking towards the door, which 

13 * 


298 


EVELINA. 


was open, I perceived Mr. Villars, who was earnestly regarding 
me. “ Is farmer Smith gone, sir ?” cried I, hastily rising, and 
snatching up my work. 

“■Don’t let me disturb you,” said he, gravely ; “ I will go again 
to my study.” 

“ Will you, sir ? I was in hopes you were coming to sit here.” 

“ In hopes ! — and why, Evelina, should you hope it ?” 

This question was so unexpected, that I knew not how to 
answer it ; but, as I saw he was moving away, I followed, and 
begged him to return. “ No, my dear, no,” said he, with a 
forced smile, “ I only interrupt your meditations.” 

Again I knew not what to say ; and while I hesitated, he 
retired. My heart was with him, but I had not the courage to 
follow. The idea of an explanation brought on in so serious a 
manner frightened me. I recollected the inference yov had 
drawn from my uneasiness, and I feared that he might make a 
similar interpretation. 

Solitary and thoughtful I passed the rest of the morning in 
my own room. At dinner I again attempted to be cheerful ; 
but Mr. Villars himself was grave, and I had not sufficient spirits 
to support a conversation merely by my own efforts. As soon 
as dinner was over, he took a book, and I walked to the win- 
dow. I believe I remained near an hour in this situation. All 
my thoughts were directed to considering how I might dispel the 
doubts which I apprehended Mr. Villars had formed, without 
acknowledging a circumstance which I had suffered so much 
pain merely to conceal. But while I was thus planning for the 
future I forgot the present : and so intent was I upon the subject 
which occupied me, that the strange appearance of my unusual 
inactivity and extreme thoughtfulness never occurred to me. 
But when, at last, T recollected myself, and turned round, I saw 
that Mr. Villars, who had parted with his book, was wholly 
engrossed in attending to me. I started from my revery, and, 
hardly knowing what I said, asked if he had been reading ? 

He paused a moment, and then replied,” Yes, my child; — a 
book that both afflicts and perplexes me.” 


EVELINA. 


299 


He means me^ thought 1 ; and therefore I made no answer. 

“ What if we read it together ?” continued he : “ will you 
assist me to clear its obscurity?’’ 

I knew not what to say ; but I sighed involuntarily from the 
bottom of my heart He rose, and approaching me, said, with 
emotion, “ My child, I can no longer be a silent witness of thy 
sorrow. Is not thy sorrow my sorrow ? — and ought I to be a 
stranger to the cause when I so deeply sympathize in the effect?” 

“ Cause, sir !” cried, I greatly alarmed ; “ what cause ? I 
don’t know — I can’t tell — I ” 

“ Fear not,” said he, kindly, “ to unbosom thyself to me, my 
dearest Evelina ; open to me thy whole heart : it can have no 
feelings for which I will not make allowance. Tell me, therefore, 
what it is that thus afflicts us both ; and who knows but I may 
suggest some means of relief?” 

“ You are too, too good,” cried 1, greatly embarrassed ; “ but 
indeed I know not what you mean.” 

“ I see,” said he, “ it is painful to you to speak : suppose, then, 
I endeavour to save you by guessing ?” 

“ Impossible ! impossible !” cried I, eagerly : “ no one living 

could ever guess, ever suppose ” I stopped abruptly ; for I then 

recollected I was acknowledging something was to be guessed : 
however, he noticed not my mistake. 

“ At least let me try,” answered he, mildly ; “ perhaps I may 
be a better diviner than you imagine : if I guess every thing 
that is probable, surely I must approach near the real reason. 
Be honest, then, my love, and speak without reserve ; — does not 
the country, after so much gayety, so much variety, does it not 
appear insipid and tiresome?” 

“ No, indeed ! I love it more than ever, and more than ever 
do I wish I had never, never quitted it !” 

“ O my child ! that I had not permitted the journey ! My 
judgment always opposed it, but my resolution was not proof 
acrainst persuasion.” 

°“I blush, indeed,” cried I, “to recollect my earnestness but 
I have been my own punisher !” 


300 


EVELINA. 


“ It is too late now,” answered he, “ to reflect upon this sub- 
ject ; let us endeavour to avoid repentance for the time to come, 
and we shall not have erred without reaping some instruction.” 
Then seating himself, and making me sit by him, he continued, 
“ I must now guess again : perhaps you regret the loss of those 
friends you knew in town ? — perhaps you miss their society, and 
fear you may see them no more ? — perhaps Lord Orville ” 

I could not keej) my seat ; but, rising hastily, said, “ Dear sir, 
ask me nothing more ! — for I have nothing to own, — nothing to 
say : — my gravity has been merely accidental, and I can give no 
reason for it at all. Shall I fetch you another book ? or will 
you have this again ?” 

For some minutes he was totally silent, and I pretended to 
employ myself in looking for a book. At last, with a deep sigh, 
“ I see,” said he, “ I see but too plainly, that though Evelina is 
returned, I have lost my child !” 

“No, sir, no,” cried I, inexpressibly shocked; “she is more 
yours than ever ! Without you, the world would be a desert to 
her, and life a burthen ; forgive her, then, and, — if you can, — 
condescend to be, once more, the confidant of all her thoughts.” 

“ How highly I value, how greatly I wish for her confidence,” 
returned he, “ she cannot but know ; yet to extort, to tear it 
from her, — my justice, my afiection both revolt at the idea. I 
am sorry that I was so earnest with you : leave me, ray dear, 
leave me, and compose yourself; we will meet again at tea.” 

“ Do you then refuse to hear me ?” 

“ No, but I abhor to compel you. I have long seen that your 
mind has been ill at ease, and mine has largely partaken of your 
concern : I forbore to question you ; for I hoped that time and 
absence from whatever excited your uneasiness might best oper- 
ate in silence : but, alas ! your affliction seems only to augment, 
— your health declines, — your look alters ! 0 Evelina, my aged 

heart bleeds to see the change ; bleeds to behold the darling it 
had cherished, the prop it had reared for its support, when 
bowed down by years and infirmities, sinking itself under the 
pressure of internal grief struggling to hide what it should seek 


EVELINA. 


301 


to participate! But go, my dear, go to your own room ; we both 
want composure, and we will talk of this matter some other time.’^ 
“ 0 sir,” cried I, penetrated to the soul, “ bid me not leave 

you I think me not so lost to feeling, to gratitude ” 

“ Not a word of that,” interrupted he : “ it pains me you should 
think upon that subject ; pains me you should ever remember 
that you have not a natural, an hereditary right to every thing 
within my power. I meant not to affect you thus, — I hoped to 
have soothed you 1 but my anxiety betrayed me to an urgency 
that has distressed you. Comfort yourself, my love ; and doubt 
not but that time will stand your friend, and all will end well.” 

I burst into ^ears : with diflSculty had I so long restrained 
them ; for my heart, while it glowed with tenderness and grati- 
tude, was oppressed witha sense of its own unworthines^ “You 
are all, all goodness 1” cried I, in a voice scarce audible ; “ little 
as I deserve, — unable as I am to repay such kindness, — yet my 
whole soul feels, — thanks you for it !” 

“ My dearest child,” cried he, “ I cannot bear to see thy tears : 
for my sake dry them : such a sight is too much for me : think 
of that, Evelina, and take comfort, I charge thee 1” 

“ Say then,” cried I, kneeling at his feet, “ say, then, that you 
forgive me 1 that you pardon my reserve, — that you will again 
suffer me to tell you my most secret thoughts, and rely upon 
my promise never more to forfeit your confidence ! My Father 1 
my protector ! ray ever-honoured -ever-loved — ray best and only 
friend 1 say you forgive your Evelina, and she will study better 
to deserve your goodness 1” 

He raised, he embraced me : he called me his sole joy, his 
only earthly hope, and the child of his bosom ! He folded me 
to his heart ; and while I wept from the fulness of mine, with 
words of sweetest kindness and consolation he soothed and tran- 
quillized me. 

Dear to my remembrance will ever be that moment, when, 
banishing the reserve I had so foolishly planned, and so pain- 
fully supported, I was restored to the confidence of the best of 
men ! 


302 


EVELINA. 


When at lenj^th. we were again quietly and composedly seated 
by each other, and Mr. Yillars waited for the explanation I had 
begged him to hear, I found myself extremely embarra^ssed how 
to introduce the subject which must lead to it. He saw my 
distress; and with a kind of benevolent pleasantry, asked me if 
I would let him guess any more ?, I assented in silence. 

“ Shall I then go back to where I left off?” 

“If — if you please; — I believe so,” said I, stammering, 

“Well, then, my love, I think I was speaking of the regret it 
was natural you should feel upon quitting those from whom you 
had received civility and kindness, with so little certainty of ever 
seeing them again, or being able to return th«ir good offices ? 
These are circumstances that afford but melancholy reflections to 
young minds ; and the^ affectionate disposition of my Evelina, 
open to all social feelings, must be hurt more than usual by such 
considerations. You are silent, my dear ! Shall I name those 
whom I think most worthy the regret I speak of? We shall 
then see if our opinions coincide.” 

Still I said nothing, and he continued. 

“ In your London journal nobody appears in a more amiable, 
a more respectable light than Lord Orville ; and perhaps ” 

“ I knew what you would say,” cried I, hastily, “ and I have 
long feared where your suspicions would fall ; but indeed, sir, 
you are mistaken : I hate Lord Orville, — he is the last man in 
the world in whose favour I should be prejudiced.” 

I stopped ; for Mr. Villars looked at me with such infinite 
surprise, that my own warmth made me blush. 

•“You hate Lord Orville?” repeated he. 

I could make no answer, but took from my pocket-book the 
letter, and giving it to him, “ See, sir,” said I, “ how differently 
the same man can talk and write 

He read it three times before he spoke ; and then said, “ I am 
so much astonished, that I know not what I read. When had 
you this letter?” 

I told him. Again he read it, and, after considering its con- 
tents some time, said, “ I can form but one conjecture concerning 


EVKLTNA. 


ao3 

this most extraordinary performance ; he must certainly have 
been intoxicated when he wrote it” 

“ Lord Orville intoxicated !” repeated I : “ once I thought him 
a stranger to all intemperance ; but it is very possible, for I can 
believe any thing now.” 

“ That a man who had behaved with so strict a regard to deli- 
cacy,” continued Mr. Villars ; “ and who, as far as occasion had 
allowed, manifested sentiments the most honourable, should thus 
insolently, thus wantonly, insult a modest young woman, in his 
perfect senses, I cannot think possible. But, my dear, you should 
have enclosed this letter in an empty cover, and have returned it 
to him again : such a resentment would at once have become 
your character, and have given him an opportunity, in some 
measure, of clearing his own. He could not well have read this 
letter the next morning without being sensible of the impropriety 
of having written it.” 

Oh, Maria ! why had [ not this thought ? I might then have 
received some apology ; the mortification would then have been 
not mine. It is true, he could not have reinstated himself so 
highly in my opinion as I had once ignorantly placed him, since 
the conviction of such intemperance would have levelled him with 
the rest of his imperfect race ; yet my humbled pride might have 
been consoled by his acknowledgments. 

But why should I allow myself to be humbled by a man who 
can suffer his reason to be thus abjectly debased, when I am 
exalted by one who knows no vice, and scarcely a failing but by 
hearsay ? To think of his kindness and reflect upon his praises 
might animate and comfort me even in the midst of affliction. 
“ Your indignation,” said he, “ is the result of virtue ; you fancied 
Lord Orville was without fault — he had the appearance of infi- 
nite worthiness, and you supposed his character accorded with 
his appearance : guileless yourself, how could you prepare against 
the duplicity of another? Your disappointment has just been 
proportioned to your expectations, and you have chiefly owed its 
severity to the innocence which hid its approach.” 

I will bid these words dwell ever in my memory, and they 


304 


EVELINA. 


shall cheer, comfort, and enliven me ! This conversation, though 
extremely affecting to me at the time it passed, has relieved my 
mind from much anxiety. Concealment, my dear Maria, is the 
foe of tranquillity : however I may err in future, I will never be 
disingenuous in acknowledging my errors. To you and to Mr. 
Villars I vow an unremitting confidence. 

And yet, though I am more at ease, I am far from well : I 
have been some time writing this letter ; but I hope I shall send 
you soon a more cheerful one. 

Adieu, my sweet friend. I entreat you not to acquaint even 
your dear mother with this affair ; Lord Orville is a favohrite 
with her, and why should I publish that he deserves not that 
honour ? 


LETTER LXII. 

Evelina in continuation. 

Bristol Hotwells, August 28. 

You will be again surprised, my dear Maria, at seeing whence 
I date my letter: but I have been very ill, and Mr. Villars was 
so much alarmed, that he not only insisted upon my accompany- 
ing Mrs. Selwyn hither, but earnestly desired she would hasten 
her intended journey. 

We travelled very slowly, and I did not find myself so much 
fatigued as I expected. We are situated upon a most delightful 
spot; the prospect is beautiful, the air pure, and the weather 
very favourable to invalids. I am already better, and I doubt 
not but I shall soon be well ; as well, in regard to mere health, 
as I wish to be. 

I cannot express the reluctance with which I parted from my 
reverend Mr. Villars : it was not like that parting which, last 
April, preceded my journey to How^ard Grove, when, all expec- 
tation and hope, though I wept, I rejoiced ; and though I sin- 
cerely grieved to leave him, I yet wished to be gone : the sorrow 
I now felt was unmixed with any livelier sensation ; expectation 


EVELINA. 


305 


was vanished, and hope I had none ! All that I held most dear 
upon earth I quitted ; and that upon an errand, to the success of 
which I was totally indifferent, — the re-establishment of my 
health. Had it been to have seen my sweet Maria, or her dear 
mother, I should not have repined. 

Mrs. Selwyn is very kind and ' attentive to me. She is 
extremely clever : her understanding, indeed, may be called mas- 
culine ; but, unfortunately, her manners deserve the same epithet ; 
for, in studying to acquire the knowledge of the other sex, she 
has lost all the softness of her own. In regard to myself, how- 
ever, as I have neither courage nor inclination to argue with her, 
I have never been personally hurt at her want of gentleness ; a 
virtue which, nevertheless, seems so essential a part of the female 
character, that I find myself more awkward, and less at ease, 
with a woman who wants it, than I do with a man. She is not 
a favourite with Mr. Villars, who has often been disgusted at her 
unmerciful propensity to satire : but his anxiety that I should 
try the effect of the Bristol waters overcame his dislike of com- 
mitting me to her care. Mrs. Clinton is also here, so that I shall 
be as well attended as his utmost partiality could desire. 

I will continue to write to you, my dear Miss Mirvan with as 
much constancy as if I had no other correspondent; though, 
during my absence from Berry Hill, my letters may, perhaps, be 
shortened on account of the minuteness of the journal which I 
must write to my beloved Mr. Villars : but you, who know his 
expectations, and how many ties bind me to fulfil them, will I 
am sure, rather excuse any omission to yourself than any negli- 
gence to him. 


LETTER LXIH. 

Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 

Bristol Hotwells, Sept. 12. 

The first fortnight that I passed here was so quiet, so serene, 
that it gave me reason to expect a settled calm during my stay ; 
but if I may now judge of the time to come by the present 


306 


EVELINA. 


state of my mind, the calm will be succeeded by a storm, of 
which I dread the violence ! 

This morning, in my way to the pump-room with Mrs. Sel- 
wyn, we were both very much incommoded by three gentlemen, 
who were sauntering by the side of the Avon, laughing and talk- 
ing very loud, and lounging so disagreeably, that we knew not 
how to pass them. They all three fixed their eyes very boldly 
upon me, alternately looking under my hat and whispering one 
another. Mrs Selwyn assumed an air of uncommon sternness, 
and said, “ You will please, gentlemen, either to proceed your- 
selves, or suffer us.” 

“ Oh ! ma’am,” cried one of them,“ we will suffer you with the 
greatest pleasure in life.” 

“ You will suffer us both''' answered she, “ or I am much mis- 
taken : you had better, therefore, make way quietly ; for I should 
be sorry to give my servant the trouble of teaching you better 
manners.” ♦ 

Her commanding air struck them, yet they all chose to laugh ; 
and one of them wished the fellow would begin his lesson, that 
he might have the pleasure of rolling him into the Avon : while 
another advancing to me with a freedom which made me start, 
said, “ By my soul, I did not know you ! — but I am sure I can- 
not be mistaken ; — had not I the honour of seeing you once at 
the Pantheon ?” 

I then recollected the nobleman who at that place had so 
much embarrassed me. I courtesied without speaking. They 
all bowed, and making, though in a very easy manner, an 
apology to Mrs. Selwyn, they suffered us to pass on, but chose 
to accompany us. 

“ And where,” continued this lord, “ can you so long have hid 
yourself? do you know I have been in search of you this age? 
I could neither find you out nor hear of you : not a creature 
could inform me what was become of you. I cannot imagine 
wliere you could be immured. I was at two or three public 
places every night, in hopes of meeting you. Pray, did you leave 
town ?” 


EVELINA. 


307 


“ Yes, my lord.” 

“ So early in the season ! — what could possibly induce you to 
go before the birthday ?” 

“I had nothing, ^y lord, to do with the birthday.” 

“ By ray soul, all the women who had may rejoice you were 
away. Have you been here any time ?” 

“Not above a fortnight, my lord.” 

“A fortnight ! — How unlucky that I did not meet you sooner ! 
but I have had a run of ill luck ever since I came. How long 
shall you stay ?” 

“ Indeed, my lord, I don’t know.” 

“ Six weeks, I hope ; for I shall wish the place at the devil 
when you go.” 

“ Do you then flatter yourself, my lord,” said Mrs. Selwyn, who 
had hitherto listened in silent contempt “ that you shall see such a 
beautiful spot as this when you visit the dominions of the Devil.” 

“ Ha, ha, ha ! ’Faith, my lord,” said one of his companions, 
who still walked with us, though the other had taken leave, “ the 
lady is rather hard upon you.” 

“ Not at all,” answered Mrs. Selwyn ; “ for as I cannot doubt 
but his lordship’s rank and interest will secure him a place tkere, 
it would be reflecting on his understanding, to suppose he should 
not wish to enlarge and beautify his dwelling.” 

Much as I was disgusted with this lord, I must own Mrs. Sel- 
wyn’s severity rather surprised me : but you, who have so often 
observed it, will not wonder she took so fair an opportunity of 
indulging her humour. 

“ As to plcxes^' returned he, totally unmoved, “ I am so 
indifferent to them, Uiat the devil take me if I care which way 
I go ! Objects^ indeed, I am not so easy about ; and there- 
fore I expect that those angels with w'hose beauty I am so 
much enraptured in this world will have the goodness to afford 
me some little consolation in the other.” 

“ y/hat, my lord !” cried Mrs. Selwyn, “ would you wish to 
degrade the habitation of your friend, by admitting into it the 
insipid company cf the upper regions ?” 


308 


EVELINA. 


“ What do you do with yourself this evening: said his lord- 
ship, turning to me. 

“ I shall be at home, my lord.” 

“ 0 apropos^ — where are you ?” 

“Young ladies, my lord,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “are nowhere^ 

“ Prithee,” whispered his lordship, “is that queer woman your 
mother ?” 

Good Heavens, sir, what words for such a question ! 

“No, my lord.” 

‘ Your Maiden aunt, then ?” 

“No.” 

“ Whoever she is I wish she would mind her own afiairs : I 
don’t know what the devil a woman lives for after thirty : she is 
only in another folks’ way. Shall you be at the assembly ?” 

“ I believe not, my lord.” 

“No! — why then, how in the world can you contrive to pass 
your time ?” 

“ In a manner which your lordship will think very extraordi- 
nary,” cried Mrs. Selwyn; “for the young lady reads^ 

“ Ha, ha, ha ! Egad my lord,” cried the facetious companion, 
“you are got into bad hands.” 

“You had better, ma’am,” answered he, “attack Jack Cover- 
ley here, for you will make nothing of me.” 

“ Of yo^^, my lord,” cried she, “ Heaven forbid I should ever 
entertain so idle an expectation ! I only talk, like a silly woman, 
for the sake of talking ; but I have by no means so low an opinion 
of your lordship as to suppose you vulnerable to censure.” 

“Do pray, ma’am,” cried he, “ turn to Jack Coverley ; he’s the 
very man for you: he’d be a wit himself if he was not too 
modest.” 

“ Prithee, my lord, be quiet,” returned the other ; “ if the lady 
is contented to bestow all her favours upon yow, why should you 
make such a point of my going snacks ?” 

“ Don’t be apprehensive, gentlemen,” said Mrs. Selwyn, dryly, 
“ I am not romantic ; I have not the least design of doing good 
to either of vou.” 


EVELINA. 


309 


“ Have not you been ill since I saw you ?” said his lordship, 
again addressing himself to me. 

“Yes, my lord.” 

“ I thought so ; you are paler than you was, and I suppose 
that is the reason I did not recollect you sooner.” 

“ Has not your lordship too much gallantry,” cried Mrs. Sel- 
wyn, “ to discover a young lady’s illness by her looks ?” 

“The devil a word can I speak for that woman,” said he, in a 
low voice ; “ do, prithee. Jack, take her in hand.” 

“ Excuse me, my lord,” answered Mr. Coverley. 

“ When shall I see you again ?” continued his lordship ; “ 6^ 
you go to the pump-room every morning ?” 

“ No, my lord.” 

“ Do you ride out ?” 

“ No, my lord.” 

Just then we arrived at the pump-room, and an end was put 
to our conversation, if it is not an abuse of words to give such a 
term to a string of rude questions and free compliments. 

He had not opportunity to say much more to me, as Mrs. 
Selwyn joined a large party, and I walked home between two 
ladies. He had, however, the curiosity to see us to the door. ' 

Mrs. Selwyn was very eager to know how I had made 
acquaintance with this nobleman, wliose manners so evidently 
announced the character of a confirmed libertine. I could give 
her very little satisfaction, as I was ignorant even of his name, 
but in the afternoon, Mr. Ridgeway, the apothecary, gave us very 
ample information. 

his person was easily described, for he is remarkably tall, 
Mr. Ridgeway told us he was Lord Merton, a nobleman who is 
but lately come to his title, though he has already dissipated 
more than half his fortune ; a professed admirer of beauty, but a 
man of most licentious character : that among men, his compan- 
ions consisted chiefly of gamblers and jockeys; and among 
women he was rarely admitted. 

“ Well, Miss Anville,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “ I am glad T was not 
more civil to him. You may depend upon me for keeping him 
at a distance.” 


EVELINA. 


3ia 


“ O, madam,” said Mr. Ridgeway, “ he may now be admitted 
anywhere, for he is going to reform.'^' 

“ Has he, under that notion, persuaded any fool to marry 
him ?” 

“ Not yet, madam, but a marriage is expected to take place 
shortly : it has been some time in agitation ; but the friends of 
the lady have obliged her to wait till she is of age : however, her 
brother, who has chiefly opposed the match, now that she is near 
being at her own disposal, is tolerably quiet. She is very pretty, 
and will have a large fortune. We expect her at the Wells 
qj^ery day.” 

“What is her name?” said Mrs. Selwyn. 

“ Larpent,” answered he ; “ Lady Louisa Larpent, sister of 
Lord Orville.” 

“ Lord Orville !” repeated I, all amazement. 

“ Yes, ma’am ; his lordship is coming with her. I have had 
certain information. They are to be at the honourable Mrs. 
Beaumont’s. She is a relation of my lord’s, and has a very fine 
house upon Clifton Hill.” 

His lordship is coming with her ! — Good God, what an emo- 
tion did those words give me ! . How, strange my dear sir, that, 
just at this time, he should visit Bristol ! It will be impossible 
for me to avoid seeing him, as Mrs. Selwyn is very well ac- 
quainted with Mrs. Beaumont. Indeed, I have had an escape in 
not being under the same roof with him, for Mrs. Beaumont 
invited us to her house immediately upon our arrival ; but the 
inconvenience of being so distant from the pump-room made Mrs. 
Selwyn decline her civility. 

O that the first meeting was over ! — or that I could quit Bris- 
tol without seeing him ! — inexpressibly do I dread an interview ! 
Should the same impertinent freedom be expressed by his looks 
which dictated his cruel letter, I shall not know how to endure 
either him or myself. Had I but returned it, I should be easier, 
because my sentiments of it would then be known to him : but 
now, he can only gather them by my behaviour ; and I tremble 
lest he should mistake my indignation for confusion ! — lest he 


EVELmA. 


311 


should misconstrue my reserve into embarrassment ! — for how, 
my dearest sir, how shall I be able totally to divest myself of 
the respect with which I have been used to think of him? — the 
pleasure with which I have been used to see him ? 

Surely he, as well as I, must recollect the letter at the moment 
of our meeting; and he will probably, mean to gather my 
thoughts of it from my looks. — O that they could but convey to 
him my real detestation of impertinence and vanity ! then would 
he see how much he had mistaken my disposition when he 
imagined them ray due. 

There was a time when the very idea that such a man as Lord 
Merton should ever be connected with Lord Orville' would have 
both surprised and shocked me ; and even yet I am pleased 
to hear of his repugnance to the marriage. 

But how strange, that a man of so abandoned a character 
should be the choice of a sister of Lord Orville ! and how strange, 
that almost at the moment of the union, he should be so impor- 
tunate in gallantry . to another woman ! What a world is this 
we live in ! how corrupt ! how degenerate ! well might I be con- 
tented to see no more of it ! If I find that the eyes of Lord 
Orville agree with his pen, I shall then think, that of all man- 
kind the only virtuous individual resides at Berry Hill, 


LETTER LXI\ . 

Evelina in continuation. 

Bristol Hotwells, Sept. 16. 

O, SIR, Lord Orville is still himself! — still what from the 
moment I beheld, I believed him to be — all that is amiable in 
man ! and your happy Evelina, restored at once to spirits and 
tranquillity, is no longer sunk in her own opinion, nor discon- 
tented with the world ; — no longer with dejected eyes sees the 
prospect of passing her future days in sadness, doubt and suspi- 
cion 1 — with revived courage she now looks forward, and expects 


312 


EVELINA. 


to meet with goodness even among mankind : — though still she 
feels as strongly as ever the folly of hoping, in any second 
instance, to meet with 'perfection. 

Your conjecture was certainly right ; Lord Orville, when he 
wrote that letter, could not he in his senses. 0 that intemper- 
ance should have power to degrade so low a man so noble ! 

This morning I accompanied Mrs. Selwyn to Clifton Hill, 
where, beautifully situated, is the house of Mrs Beaumont. Most 
uncomfortable were my feelings during our walk, which was 
very slow ; for the agitation of my mind made me more than 
usually sensible how weak I still continue. As we entered the 
house, I summoned all .my resolution to my aid, determined 
rather to die than give Lord Orville reason to attribute my weak- 
ness to a wrong cause. I was happily relieved from my pertur- 
bation when I saw Mrs. Beaumont was alone. We sat with her 
for, I believe, an hour without interruption ; and then we saw a 
phaeton drive up to the gate, and a lady and gentleman alight 
from it. 

They entered the parlour with the ease of people who were at 
home. The gentleman, I soon saw, was Lord Merton : he came 
shuffling into the room with his boots on, and his whip in his 
hand ; and having made something like a bow to Mrs. Beau- 
mont, he turned towards me. His surprise was very evident, but 
he took no manner of notice of me. He waited, I believe, to dis- 
cover, first, what chance had brought me to that house, where 
he did not look much rejoiced at meeting me. He seated him- 
self very quietly at the window, without speaking to any body. 

Meantime the lady, who seemed very young, hobbling rather 
than walking into the room, made a passing courtesy to 
Mrs. Beaumont, saying, “ How are you, ma’am ?” and then with- 
out noticing anybody else, with an air of languor she flung her- 
self upon a sofa, protesting, in a most affected voice, and speak- 
ing so softly she could hardly be heard, that she was fatigued 
to death. “ Really, ma’am, the roads are so monstrous dusty, — 
you can’t imagine how troublesome the dust is to one’s eyes ! — 
and the sun, too, is monstrous disagreeable ! — I dare say I shall 


EVELINA. 


313 


be so tanned, I sba’n’t be fit to be seen this age. Indeed, my 
lord, I won’t go out with you any more, for you don’t care 
where you take one.” 

“ Upon my honour,” said Lord Merton, “ I took you the 
pleasantest ride in England ; the fault was in the sun, not me.” 

“ Your lordship is in the right,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “ to transfer 
the fault to the sww, because it has so many excellences to counter- 
balance partial inconveniences, that a little blame w'ill not 
injure that in our estimation.” 

Lord Merton looked by no means delighted at this attack; 
which, I believed, she would not so readily have made but to 
revenge his neglect of us. 

“ Did you meet your brother. Lady Louisa ?” said Mrs. Beau- 
mont. 

“ No, ma’am. Has he rode out this morning?” 

I then found, what I had before suspected, that this lady was 
Lord Orville’s sister : how strange that such near relations 
should be so different to each other ? There is, indeed, some 
resemblance in their features; but in their manners, not the 
least. 

“ Yes,” answered Mrs. Beaumont, “ and I believe he wished to 
see you.” 

“ My lord drove so monstrous fast,” said Lady Louisa, “ that 
perhaps we passed him. He frightened me out of my senses ; I 
declare my head is quite giddy. Do you know, ma’am, we have 
done nothing but quarrel all the morning ! — You can’t think how 
I’ve scolded ; have not I, my lord ?” and she smiled expressively 
at Lord Merton. 

“You have been, as you always are,” said he, twisting his 
whip with his fingers, “ all sweetness.” 

“ 0 fy, my lord,” cried she, “ I know you don’t think so : I know 
you think me very ill-natured ; don’t you, my lord ?” 

“No, upon my honour; — how can your ladyship ask such a 
question ? Pray, how goes time ? my watch stands.” 

“It is almost three,” answered Mrs. Beaumont. 

“ Lord, ma’am, you frighten me !” cried Lady Louisa ; and then 

14 


EVELINA. 


Sli 

turning to Lord Merton, “ why now, you wicked creature you, did 
you not tell me it was but one ?” 

Mis, Selwyn then rose to take leave, but Mrs. Beaumont 
asked if she would look at the shrubbery; “I should like it 
much,” answered she, “but that I fear to fatigue Miss Anville” 

Ladv Louisa, then raising her head from her hand, on which it 
had leaned, turned round to look at me ; and having fully satis- 
fied her curiosity, without any regard to the confusion it gave me, 
turned about, and again leaning on her hand, took no further 
notice of me. 

I declared myself very able to walk, and beo-ged that I might 
acc.ompany them. “ What say, yow. Lady Louisa,” cried Mrs. 
Beaumont, “ to a stroll in the garden ?” 

“ Me, ma’am ! — I declare I can’t stir a step ; the heat is so 
excessive, it would kill me. I’m half-dead with it already : 
besides, I shall have no time to dress. Will anybody be here to- 
day, ma’am.” 

“ I believe not, unless Lord Merton will favour us with his 
company.” 

“ With great pleasure, madam.” 

“Well, I declare, you don’t deserve to be asked,” cried Lady 
Louisa, “ you wicked creature you ! — I must tell you one thing 
ma’am, — you can’t think how abominable he was ! do you know 
we met Mr. Lovel in his new phaeton, and my lord was so cruel 
as to drive against it ? — we really flew. I declare I could not 
breathe. Upon my word, my lord. I’ll never trust myself with 
you again, — I won’t indeed.” 

We then w^ent into the garden, leaving them to discuss the 
point at their leisure. 

Do you remember a pretty hut affected young lady I mentioned 
to have seen in Lord Orville’s party, at the Pantheon ? How 
little did I then imagine her to be his sister? yet Lady Louisa 
Larpent is the very person. I can now account for the piqued 
manner of her speaking to Lord Merton that evening, and I can 
now account for the air of displeasure with which Lord Orville 
marked the undue attention of his future brother-in-law to me. 


EVEIJNA. 


315 


We had not walked long, ere, at a distance, I perceived Lord 
Orville, who seemed just dismounted from his horse, enter the 
garden. All my perturbation returned at the sight of him ! — yet 
1 endeavoured to repress every feeling but resentment. Ashe 
approached us, he bowed to the whole party ; but I turned away 
my head to avoid taking any share in his civility. Addressing him- 
self immediately to Mrs. Beaumont, he was beginning to inquire 
after his sister : but, upon seeing my face, he suddenly exclaimed, 
“Miss Anville !” — and then he advanced and made his compli- 
ments to me, — not with an air of vanity or impertinence, nor yet 
with a look of consciousness or shame ; but with a countenance 
open, manly, and charming ! — with a smile that indicated 
pleasure, and eyes that sparkled with delight ! — on my side was 
all that consciousness; for by him, I really believe, the letter was, 
at that moment, entirely forgotten. 

With what politeness did he address me ! with what sweetness 
did he look at me ! the very tone of his voice seemed flattering ! 
he congratulated himself upon his good fortune in meeting me ; 
hoped I should spend some time in Bristol ; and inquired, even 
with anxiety inquired, if my health was the cause of my 
journey; in which case his satisfaction would be converted into 
apprehension. 

Yet, struck as I w’aswith his manner, and charmed to find him 
such as he was wont to be, imagine not, my dear sir, that I for- 
got the resentment I owe him, or the cause he has given me of 
displeasure ; no, my behaviour w'as such as I hope, had you seen, 
you would not have disapproved : I was grave and distant ; I 
scarce looked at him when he spoke, or answered him when he 
was silent. 

As he must certainly observe this alteration in my conduct, I 
think it could not fail making him both recollect and repent the 
provocation he had so causelessly given me ; for surely he was 
not so wholly lost to reason as to be now ignorant he had ever 
offended me. 

The moment that, without absolute rudeness, I was able, I 
turned entirely from him, and asked Mrs. Selwyn if we should 


316 


EVELINA. 


not be late home ? How Lord Orville looked I know not, for I 
avoided meeting his eyes; but he did not speak another word as 
we proceeded to the garden gate. Indeed, I believe my abrupt- 
ness surprised him, for he did not seem to expect I had so much 
spirit. And to own the truth, convinced as I was of the pro- 
priety, nay necessity of showing my displeasure, I yet almost 
hated myself for receiving his politeness so ungraciously. 

When we were taking leave, my eyes accidentally meeting his, 
I could not but observe that his gravity equalled my own ; for it 
had entirely taken place of the smiles and good-humour with 
which he had met me. 

“ I am afraid this young lady,” said Mrs. Beaumont, “ is too 
weak for another long walk till she is again rested.” 

“ If the ladies will trust to my driving,” said Lord Orville, 
“ and are not afraid of a phaeton, mine shall be ready in a 
moment.” 

“ You are very good, my lord,” said Mrs. Selwyn ; “ but my will 
is yet unsigned, and I don’t choose to venture in a phaeton with a 
young man while that is the case.” 

“ O,” cried Mrs. Beaumont, “ you need not be afraid of my Lord 
Orville, for he is remarkably careful.” 

“ Well, Miss Anville,” answered she, “ what say you ?” 

“ Indeed,” cried I, “ I had much rather walk.” But, then, 
looking at Lord Orville, I perceived in his face a surprise so 
serious at my abrupt refusal, that I could not forbear adding, 
“ for I should be sorry to occasion so much trouble.” 

Lord Orville, brightening at these words, came forward, and 
pressed his offer in a manner not to be denied ; so the phaeton 
was ordered ! And indeed, my dear sir, — I know not how it 
was, — but from that moment my coldness and reserve insensibly 
wore away ! You must not be angry, — it was my intention, nay, 
my endeavour, to support them with firmness; but whe*n I 
formed the plan, I thought only of the letter, — not of Lord Orville ! 
and how is it possible for resentment to subsist without provoca- 
tion? yet, believe me, my dearest sir, had he sustained the part 
he began to act when he wrote the ever-to-be-regretted letter, 


EVELINA. 


317 


your Evelina would not have forfeited her title to your esteem, 
by contentedly submitting to be treated with indignity. 

We continued in the garden till the phaeton was ready. 
When we parted from Mrs. Beaumont, she repeated her invita- 
tion to Mrs. Selwyn to accept an apartment in her house ; but 
the reason I have already mentioned made it be again declined. 

Lord Orville drove very slowly, and so cautiously, that, not- 
withstanding the height of the phaeton, fear would have been 
ridiculous, I supported no part in the conversation ; but Mrs. 
Selwyn extremely well supplied the place of two. Lord Orville 
himself did not speak much ; but the excellent sense and refined 
good-breeding which accompanied every word he utters give 
value and weight to whatever he says. 

“ I suppose, my lord,” said Mrs. Selwyn, when we stopped at 
our lodgings, “ you would have been extremely confused had we 
met any gentlemen who have the honour of knowing you.” 

“ If I had,” answered he, gallantly, “ it would have been from 
mere compassion at their envy.” 

“ No, my lord,” answered she, “ it would have been from mere 
shame, that, in an age so daring, you alone should be such a 
coward as to forbear to frighten women.” 

“ 0,” cried he, laughing, “ when a man is in a fright for him- 
self, the ladies cannot but be in security ; for you have not had 
half the apprehension for the safety of your person that T have 
for that of my heart.” He then alighted, handed us out, took 
leave, and again mounting the phaeton, was out of sight in a 
minute. 

“Certainly,” said Mrs. Selwyn, when he was gone, “there 
must have Ueen some mistake in the birth of that young man : he 
was undoubtedly designed for the last age ; for he is really polite !” 

And now, my dear sir, do not you think, according to the pre- 
sent situation of affairs, I may give up my resentment without 
imprudence or impropriety! I hope you will not blame me. 
Indeed, had you, like me, seen his respectful behaviour, you would 
have been convinced of the impracticability of supporting any 
further indignation. 


818 


EVELINA.. 


LETTER LXV. 

Evelina in continuation. 

Bristol Hotwells, Sept. 19. 

Yesterday morning Mrs. Selwyn received a card from Mrs. 
Beaumont, to ask her to dine with her to-day, and another, to the 
same purpose, came to me. The invitation was accepted, and 
we are just arrived from Clifton Hall. 

We found Mrs. Beaumont alone in the parlour. I will write 
you the character of that lady, in the words of our satirical friend 
Mrs. Selwyn. “ She is an absolute Court Calendar bigot ; for, 
chancing herself to born of a noble and ancient family, she thinks 
proper to be of opinion that birth and virtue are one and the same 
thing. She has some good qualities ; but they rather originate 
from pride than principle, as she piques herself upon being too 
high-born to be capable of an unworthy action, and thinks it 
incumbent upon her to support the dignity of her ancestry. 
Fortunately for the world in general, she has taken it into her 
head that condescension is the most distinguishing virtue of high 
life ; so that the same pride of family which renders others 
imperious is with her the motive of affability. But her civility 
is too formal to be comfortable, and too mechanical to be flatter- 
ing. That she does me the honour of so much notice is merely 
owing to an accident, which, I am sure, is very painful to her 
remembrance ; for it so happened that I once did her some ser- 
vice, in regard to an apartment at Southampton ; and I have 
since been informed, that, at the time she accepted my assistance, 
she thought I was a woman of quality ; and I make no doubt but 
she was miserable when she discovered me to be a mere country 
gentlewoman ; however, her nice notions of decorum have made 
her load me with favours ever since. But I am not much flattered 
by her civilities, as I am convinced I owe them neither to attach- 
ment nor gratitude ; but solely to a desire of cancelling an obliga- 
tion, which she cannot brook being under to one whose name is 
nowhere to be found in the Court Calendar.” 


EVELINA. 


819 


You well know, my dear sir, the delight this lady takes in 
giving way to her satirical humour. 

Mrs. Beaumont received us very graciously, though she some- 
what distressed me by the question she asked concerning my 
family ; such as, whether I was related to the Anvilles in the 
north ? — whether some of my name did not live in Lincolnshire ? 
and many other inquiries which much embarrassed me. 

The conversation next turned upon the intended marriage in 
her family. She treated the subject with reserve ; but it was 
evident she disapproved Lady Louisa’s choice. She spoke in terms 
of the highest esteem of Lord Orville, calling him in Marmontel’s 
words, “ Un jeune homme comme il y en a 

I did not think this conversation very agreeably interrupted by 
the entrance of Mr. Lovel. Indeed, I am heartily sorry he is now 
at the Hotwells. He made his compliments with the most obse- 
quious respect to Mrs. Beaumont, but took no sort of notice of 
any other person. 

In a few minutes Lady Louisa Larpent made her appearance. 
The same mannere prevailed ; for courtesying, with “ I hope you 
are well, ma’am,” to Mrs. Beaumont, she passed straight for- 
ward to her seat on the sofa ; where, leaning her head on her 
hand, she cast her languishing eyes round the room, with a 
vacant stare, as if determined, though she looked, not to see who 
was in it. 

Mr, Lovel presently approaching her, with reverence the most 
profound, hoped her ladyship was not indisposed. 

“ Mr. Lovel !” cried she, raising her head, “ I declare I did not 
see yOu : have you been here long ?” 

“ By my watch, madam,” said he, “only five minutes, but by 
vour ladyship’s absence as many hours.” 

“ Oh ! now I do think of it,” cried she, “ I am very angry with 
you ; so go along, do, for I sha’n’t speak to you all day.” 

“ Heaven forbid your la’ship’s displeasure should last so long ! 
in such ciuel circumstances, a day would seem an age. But in 
what have I been so unfortunate as to offend ?” 

“ Oh, you half-killed mo the other morning with terror ! I have 


820 


EVELINA. 


not yet recovered from my fright. How could you be so cruel as 
to drive your phaeton against my Lord Merton’s ?” 

“ ’Pon honour, ma’am, your la’ship does me wrong; it was all 
owing to the horses ; there was no curbing them. I protest I 
suffered more than your ladyship, from the terror of alarming 
you.” 

Just then entered Lord Merton ; stalking up to Mrs, Beaumont, 
to whom alone he bowed, he hoped he had not made her wait ; 
and then advancing to Lady Louisa, said, in a careless manner, 
“How is your ladyship this morning ?” 

“ Not well at all,” answered she ; “ I have been dying with the 
headache ever since I got up.” 

“ Indeed !” cried he, with a countenance wholly unmoved, “ I 
am very unhappy to hear it. But should not your ladyship have 
some advice ?” 

“ I am quite sick of advice,” answered she : “ Mr. Ridgeway 
has but just left me, but he has done me no good. Nobody here 
knows what is the matter with me, yet they all see how indifferent 
I am.” 

“Your ladyship’s constitution,” said Mr. Lovel, “is infinitely 
delicate.” 

“ Indeed it is,” cried she, in low voice ; “ I am nerve all 
over.” 

“ I am glad, however,” said Lord Merton, “ that you did not 
take the air this morning, for Coverley has been driving against 
me as if he was mad : he has got two of the finest-spirited horses 
I ever saw.” 

“ Pray, my lord,” cried she, “ why did not you bring Mr. 
Coverley with you? he’s a droll creature; I like him mon- 
strously.” 

“ Why, he promised to be here as soon as I. I suppose he’ll 
come before dinner’s over.” 

In the midst of this trifling conversation. Lord Orville made his 
appearance. O how different was his address ! how superior did 
he look and move to all about him ! Having paid his respects 
to Mrs. Beaumont, and then to Mrs. Selwyn, he came up to me 


EVELINA. 


321 


and said, “ I hope Miss Anville has not suffered from the fatigue 
of Monday morning ?” Then, turning to Lady Louisa, who* 
seemed rather surprised at his speaking to me, he added, “ Give 
me leave, sister, to introduce Miss Anville to you.” 

Lady Louisa, half-rising, said, very coldly, that she should be 
glad of the honour of knowing me ; and then, abruptly turning 
to Lord Merton and Mr. Lovel, continued, in a half-whisper, her 
conversation. 

For my part, I had risen and courtesied, and now, feeling very 
foolish, I seated myself agaii) ; first I blushed at the unexpected 
politeness of Lord Orville, and immediately afterward at the con" 
temptuous failure of it in his sister. How can that young lady 
see her brother so universally admired for his manners and deport- 
ment, and yet be so unamiably opposite to him in hers ! but while 
his mind, enlarged and noble, rises superior to the little preju- 
dices of rank, hers, feeble and unsteady, sinks beneath their influ- 
ence. 

Lord Orville, I am sure, was hurt and displeased : he bit his 
lips, and turning from her, addressed himoelf wholly to me, till 
we were summoned to dinner. Do you think I was not grateful 
for his attention ? yes, indeed, and every angry idea I had enter- 
tained was totally obliterated. 

As we were seating ourselves at the table, Mr. Coverley came 
into the room : he made a thousand apologies in a breath for 
being so late, but said he had been retarded by a little accident, 
for that he had overturned his phaeton, and broke it all to pieces. 
Ladv Louisa screamed at this intelligence, and looking at Lord 
Merton, declared she would never go into a phaeton again. 

“ Oh,” cried he, “ never mind Jack Coverley, for he does not 
know how to drive.” 

“My lord,” cries Mr. Coverley, “ I’ll drive against yow fora 
thousand pounds.” 

“ Done !” returned the other ; “ name your day, and we’ll each 
choose a judge.” 

“ The sooner the better,” cried Mr. Coverley ; “ to-morrow, if 
the carriage can be repaired.” 


14 ^ 


322 


EVELINA. 


“These enterprises,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “ are very proper for 
men of rank, since ’tis a million to one but both parties will be 
incapacitated for any better employment.” 

“ For Heaven’s sake,” cried Lady Louisa, changing colour, 
“ don’t talk so shockingly ! Pray, my lord, pray, Mr. Coverley, 
don’t alarm me in this manner.” 

“ Compose yourself. Lady Louisa,” said Mrs. Beaumont, “ the 
gentlemen will think better of the scheme; they are neither of 
them in earnest.” 

“ The very mention of such a scheme,” said Lady Louisa, 
taking out her salts, “ makes me tremble all over ! Indeed, my 
lord, you have frightened me to death 1 I sha’n’t eat a morsel 
of dinner.” 

“Permit me,” said Lord Orville, “to propose some other sub- 
ject for the present, and we will discuss this matter another 
time.” 

“Pray, brothei-, excuse me ; my lord must give me his word to 
drop the project, for I declare it has made me sick as death.” 

“To compromise the matter.” said Lord Orville, “suppose, if 
both parties are unwilling to give up the bet, that, to make the 
ladies easy, we change its object to something less dangerous !” 

This proposal was so strongly seconded by all the party, that 
both Lord Merton and Mr. Coverley were obliged to comply with 
it ; and it was then agreed that the affair should be finally settled 
in the afternoon. 

“ I shall now be entirely out of conceit with phaetons again,” 
said Mrs. Selwyn, “ though Lord Orville had almost reconciled 
me to them.” 

“ My Lord Orville !” cried, the witty Mr. Coverley, “ why, my 
Lord Orville is as careful, — egad, as careful as an old woman ! 
Why, I’d drive a one-horse cart against my lord’s phaeton for a 
hundred guineas.” 

This sally occasioned much laughter ; for Mr. Coverley, I find, 
is regarded as a man of infinite humour. 

“Perhaps, sir,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “you have not discovered 
the reason my Lord Orville is so careful ?” 


EVELINA. 


323 


“Why, no, ma’am ; I must own I never heard any particular 
reason for it.” 

“ Why, then, sir. I’ll tell it you ; and I believe you will confess 
it to be very particular ; his lordship’s friends are^ not yet tired 
of him.” 

Lord Orville laughed and bowed. Mr. Coverley, a little con- 
fused, turned to Lord Merton, and said, “ No foul play, my lord ! 
I remember your lordship recommended me to the notice of this 
lady the other morning, and, egad, I believe you have been 
doing me the same office to-day ” 

“ Give you joy. Jack !” cried Lord Merton, with a loud laugh. 

After this, the conversation turned wholly upon eating, a sub- 
ject which was discussed with the utmost delight ; and had I 
not known they were men of rank and fashion, I should have 
imagined that Lord Merton, Mr. Lovel, and Mr. Coverley, had 
all been professed cooks ; for they displayed so much knowledge 
of sauces and made-dishes, and of the various methods of dress- 
ing the same things, that I am persuaded they must have given 
much time and much study to make themselves such adepts in 
this art. It would be very difficult to determine whether they 
were most to be distinguished as gluttons or epicures; for they 
were at once dainty and voracious, understood the right and the 
wrong of every dish, and alike emptied the one and the other. 
I should have been quite sick of their remarks, had I not been 
entertained by seeing that Lord Orville, who, I am sure, was 
equally disgusted, not only read my sentiments, but, by his coun- 
tenance, communicated to me his own. 

When dinner was over, Mrs. Beaumont recommended the 
gentlemen to the care of Lord Orville, and then attended the 
ladies to the drawing-room. 

The conversation, till tea-time, was extremely insipid: Mrs. 
Selwyn reserved herself for the gentlemen, Mrs. Beaumont was 
grave, and Lady Louisa languid. 

But at tea everybody revived ; we were joined by the gentle- 
men, and gaiety took place of dulness. 

Since I, as Mr. Lovel says, am nobody^ I seated myself quietly 


324 


EVELINA. 


at a window, and not very near to anybody : Lord Merton, Mr. 
Coverley, and Mr. Lovel, severally passed me without notice, and 
surrounded the chair of Lady Louisa Larpent. I must own I 
was rather piqued at the behaviour of Mr. Lovel, as he had 
formerly known me. It is true I most sincerely despise his fop- 
pery ; yet I should be grieved to meet with contempt from any- 
body. But I was by no means sorry to find that Lord Merton 
was determined not to know me before Lady Louisa, as his 
neglect relieved me from much embarrassment. As to Mr. 
Coverley, his attention or disregard was equally indifierent to me. 
Yet, altogether, I feel extremely uncomfortable in finding myself 
considered in a light very inferior to the rest of the company. 

But when Lord Orville appeared, the scene changed ; he 
came up-stairs last ; and seeing me sit alone, not only spoke to 
me directly, but drew a chair next mine, and honoured me with 
his entire attention. 

He inquired very particularly after my health, and hoped I 
had already found benefit from the Bristol air. “ How little did 
I imagine,” added he, “ when I had last the pleasure of seeing 
you in town, that ill health would in so short a time have 
brought you hither ! I am ashamed of myself for the satisfac- 
tion I feel at seeing you ; yet how can I help it ?” 

He then inquired after the Mirvan family, and spoke of Mrs. 
Mirvan in terms of most just praise. “ She is gentle and amia- 
ble,” said he ; “a true feminine character.” 

“ Yes, indeed,” answered I ; “ and her sweet daughter, to say 
every thing of her at once, is just the daughter such a mother 
deserves.” 

“ I am glad of it,” said he, “ for both their sakes, as such near 
relations must always reflect credit or disgrace on each other.” 

After this he began to speak of the beauties of Clifton ; but in 
a few moments he was interrupted by a call from the company 
to discuss the affair of the wager. Lord Merton and Mr. Cover- 
ley, though they had been discoursing upon the subject some 
time, could not fix upon the thing that satisfied them both. 

When they asked the assistance of Lord Orville, he proposed 


EVELINA. 


325 


tliat everybody present should vote something ; and that the 
two gentlemen should draw lots, which, from the several votes, 
should decide the bet 

“We must then begin with the ladies,’- said Lord Orville, and 
applied to Mrs. Selwyn, 

“ With all my heart,” answered she, with her usual readiness ; 
“ and since the gentlemen are not allowed to risk their nechs^ 
suppose we decide the bet by their heads P' 

“By our heads!” cried Mr. Coverley; “egad, I don’t under- 
stand you.” 

“ I will then explain myself more fully. As I doubt not but 
you are both excellent classics, suppose, for the good of your 
own memories, and the entertainment and surprise of the com- 
pany, the thousand pounds should fall to the share of him who 
can repeat by heart the longest ode of Horace ?” 

Nobody could help laughing, the two gentlemen applied to 
excepted ; who seemed, each of them, rather at a loss in what 
manner to receive this unexpected proposal. At length Mr. 
Coverley, bowing low, said, “ Will your lordship please to 
begin ?” 

“ Devil take me if I do !” answered he, turning on his heel 
and stalking to the window. 

“ Come, gentlemen,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “ why do you hesitate ? 
I am sure you cannot be afraid of a weak woman? Besides, if 
you should chance to be out, Mr. Lovel, I dare say, will have the 
goodness to assist you.” 

The laugh now turned ’ against Mr. Lovel, whose change of 
countenance manifested no great pleasure at the transition. 

“ I, madam !” said he colouring ; “ no, really I must beg to be 
excused.” 

“ Why so, sir ?” 

“ Why so, ma’am ! — Why, really — as to that, — ’pon honour, 
ma’am, you are rather — a little severe; for how is it possible 
for a man who is in the House to study the classics ? I assure 
you, ma’am ” (with an affected shrug), “ I find quite business 
enough for my poor head in studying politics.” 


326 


EVELnSTA. 


“ But did you study politics at school, and at the university ?” 

“ At the university !'’ repeated he, with an embarrassed look; 
“ why, as to that, ma’am. — no. I can’t say I did ; but then, 
what with riding, — and— and — and so forth, really one has not 
much time, even at the university, for mere reading.” 

“ But to be sure, sir, you have read the classics !” 

0 dear, yes, ma’am ! — very often, — but not very — not very 
lately !” 

“ Which of the odes do you recommend to these gentlemen 
to begin with ?” 

“ Which of the odes ! — Really, ma’am, as to that, I have no 
very particulary choice ; for, to own the truth, that Horace was 
never a very great favourite with me.” 

“ In truth I believe you ?” said Mrs. Selwyn, very dryly. 

Lord Merton, again advancing into the circle with a nod and 
laugh, said, “ Give you joy, Lovel !” 

Lord Orville next applied to Mrs. Beaumont for her vote. 

It would very agreeably remind me of past times,” said she, 
“ when bowing was in fashion, if the bet was to depend upon the 
best-made bow.” 

“ Egad, my lord,” cried Mr. Coverley, “ there I should beat 
you hollow, for your lordship never bows at all.” 

“ And pray sir, do you P said Mrs. Selwyn. 

“ Do I, ma’am ?” cried he ; “ why only see !” 

“ I protest,” cried she, “ I should have taken that for a shrug^ 
if you had not told me ’twas a bow.” 

“ My lord,” cried Mr. Coverley, “ let’s practise and then most 
ridiculously, they pranced about the room, making bows. 

“ We must now,” said Lord Orville, turning to me, “ call upon 
Miss Anville.” 

“0 no, ray lord,” cried I; “indeed I have nothing to pro- 
pose.” He would not, however, be refused ; but urged me so 
much to say something, at last, not to make him wait any 
longer, I ventured to propose an extempore couplet upon some 
given subject. 

Mr. Coverley, instantly made me a bow, or, according to Mrs. 


EVELINA. 


327 


Selwyn, a shrug, crying, “ Thank you, ma’am : egad, that’s my 
forte! — Why, my lord, the fates seem against you.” 

Lady Louisa was then applied to, and everybody seemed eager 
to hear her opinion. “ I don’t know what to say, I declare,” 
cried she, affectedly ; “ can’t you pass me ?” 

“By no means,” said Lord Merton. 

“ Is it possible your ladyship can make so cruel a request ?” 
said Mr. Lovel. 

“ Egad,” cried Mr. Coverley, “ if your ladyship does not help’ us 
in this dilemma, we shall be forced to return to our phaetons.” 

“ Oh !” cried Lady Louisa, screaming ; “ you frightful creature 
you, how can you be so abominable ?” 

I believe this trifling lasted near half an hour ; when at 
length, everybo(^^" being tired, it was given up, and she said she 
would consider against another time. 

Lord Orville now called upon Mr. Lovel, who, after about ten 
minutes’ deliberation, proposed, with a most important face, to 
determine the wager by who should draw the longest straw. 

I had much difficulty to forbear laughing at this unmeaning 
scheme ; but saw, to my great surprise, not the least change of 
countenance in any other person : and since we came home, 
Mrs. Selwyn has informed me that to draw straws is a fashion 
of betting by no means uncommon. Good God ! my dear sir, 
does it not seem as if money were of no value or service, since 
those who possess squander it away in a manner so infinitely 
absurd ? 

It now only remained for Lord Orville to speak ; and the 
attention of the company showed the expectations he had raised ; 
yet, I believe, they by no means prevented his proposal from 
being heard with amazement ; for it was no other, than that the 
money should be his due who, according to the opinion of the 
judges, should bring the worthiest object with whom to share 
it ! 

They all stared, without speaking. Indeed, I believe every one, 
for a moment at least, experienced something like shame, from 
having either proposed or countenanced an extravagance so 


328 


EVELINA. 


useless and frivolous. For my part, I was so much struck and 
affected by a rebuke so noble to these spendthrifts, that I felt 
my eyes filled with tears. 

The short silence and momentary reflection into which the 
company was surprised Mr. Coverley was the first to dispel, by 
saying, “ Egad, my lord, your lordship has a most remarkable 
odd way of taking things.” 

’Faith,” said the incorrigible Lord Merton, “ if this scheme 
takes, I shall fix upon my Swiss to share with me ; for I don’t 
know a worthier fellow breathing.” 

After a few more of these attempts at wit, the two gentlemen 
agreed that they would settle the affair the next morning. 

The conversation then took a difterent turn ; but T did not 
give it sufficient attention to write any account of it. Not long 
after. Lord Orville, resuming his seat near mine, said, “ Why is 
Miss Anville so thoughtful ?” 

“ I am sorry, my lord,” said I, “ to consider myself among 
those who have so justly incurred your censure.” 

“ My censure ! — you amaze me !” 

“ Indeed, ray lord, you have made me quite ashamed of myself 
for having given my vote so foolishly, when an opportunity 
offered, if, like your lordship, I had had the sense to use it, of 
showing some humanity.” 

“You treat this too seriously,” said he, smiling; “and I 
hardly know if you do not now mean a rebuke to me.” 

“ To you, my lord ?” 

“Nay, who are most deserving of it? those who adapt their 
conversation to the company, or those who afiect to be superior 
to it ?” 

“ 0, my lord, who else would do you so little justice ?” 

“ I flatter myself,” answered he, “ that, in fact, your opinion 
and mine, in this point, are the same, though you condescended 
to comply with the humour of the company. It is for me, there- 
fore, to apologize for so unseasonable a gravity, which, but for 
the particular interest that I now take in the affair of Lord Mer- 
ton, I should not have been so oflacious to display,” 


EVELINA. 


329 


Sucli a compliment as this could not fail to reconcile me to 
myself; and with revived spirits I entered into a conversation, 
which he supported with me till Mrs. Selwyn’s carriage was 
announced ; and we returned home. 

During our ride Mrs. Selwyn very much surprised me, by 
asking if I thought my health would now permit me to give up 
my morning walks to the pump-room, for the purpose of spend- 
ing a week at Clifton ? for this poor Mrs. Beaumont, added she, 
is so eager to have a discharge in full of her debt to me, that 
out of mere compassion I am induced to listen to her. Besides, 
she has always a house full of people ; and, though they are 
chiefly fools and coxcombs, yet there is some pleasure in cutting 
them up. 

I begged I might not, by any means, prevent her following 
her inclination, as my health was now very well established. 
And so, my dear sir, to-morrow we are to be actually the guests 
of Mrs. Beaumont. 

I am not so much delighted at this scheme ; for, greatly as I 
am flattered by the attention of Lord Orville, it is not very com- 
fortable to be neglected by everybody else. Besides, as I am 
sure I owe the particularity of his civility to a generous feeling 
for my situation, I cannot expect him to support it so long as a 
week. 

How often do I wish, since I am absent from you, that I was 
under the protection of Mrs. Mirvan ! It is true, Mrs. Selwyn is 
very obliging, and in every respect treats me as an uneqal; but 
she is contented with behaving well herself, and does not with a 
distinguishing politeness raise and support me with others. Yet 
I mean not to blame her, for I know she is sincerely my friend ; 
but the fact is, she is herself so much occupied in conversation 
when in company, that she has neither leisure nor thought to 
attend to the silent. 

Well, I must take my chance ! But I knew not till now how 
requisite are birth and fortune to the attainment of respect and 
civility. 


380 


EVELESTA. 


LETTER LXVI. 
Evelina in continuation. 


Ciifton, Sept. 20. 

Here I am, rny dear sir, under the same roof, and inmate of 
the same house as Lord Orville ! Indeed, if this were not the 
case, my situation would be very disagreeable, as you will easily 
believe when I tell you the light in which I am generally con- 
sidered. • 

“ My dear,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “ did you ever before meet with 
that egregious fop, Lovel ?” 

I very readily satisfied her as to my acquaintance with him. 

“ Oh, then,*’ said she, “ I am the less surprised at his ill-nature, 
since he has already injured you.” 

I begged her to explain herself; and then she told me, that 
while Lord Orville was speaking to me. Lady Louisa said to Mr. 
Lovel, “ Do you know who that is ?” 

“ Why, ma’am no, ’pon honour,” answered he, “ I can’t abso- 
lutely say I do ; I only know she is a kind of a toadeater. She 
made her first appearance in that capacity last spring, when she 
attended Miss Mirvan, a young lady of Kent.” 

How cruel is it, my dear sir, to be thus exposed to the imper- 
tinent suggestions of a man who is determined to do me ill 
offices ! Lady Louisa may well despise a toadeater ; but thank 
Heaven, her brother has not heard, or does not credit, the morti- 
fying appellation. Mrs. Selwyn said she would advise me to 
pay my court to this Mr. Lovel ; for, said she, though he is mali- 
cious, he is fashionable, and may do you some harm in the great 
world. But I should disdain myself as much as I do him, were 
I capable of such duplicity as to flatter a man whom I scorn and 
despise. 

We were received by Mrs. Beaumont with great civility, and 
by Lord Orville with something more. As to Lady Louisa, sho 
scarcely perceived that we were in the room. 

There has been company here all day, part of which I havo 


EVELINA. 


331 


spent most happily : for, after tea, when the ladies played at 
cards. Lord Orville, who does not, and I, who cannot, play, 
were consequently at our own disposal ; and then his lordship 
entered into a conversation with me, which lasted till supper- 
time. 

Almost insensibly T find the constraint, the reserve I have 
been wont to feel in his presence, wear away ; the politeness, the 
sweetness with which he speaks to me restore all my natural 
cheerfulness, and make me almost as easy as he is himself; and 
the more so, as, if I may judge by his looks, I am rather raised 
than sunk of late in his opinion. 

I asked him how the bet was, at last, to be decided ? He told 
me, that to his great satisfaction the parties had been prevailed 
upon to lower the sum from one thousand to one hundred 
pounds ; and that they had agreed it should be determined by a 
race between two old women, one of which was to be chosen by 
each side, and both were to be proved more than eighty years of 
age, though in other respects strong and healthy as possible. 

When I expressed my surprise at this extraordinary method 
of spending so much money, “ I am charmed,” said he, “ at the 
novelty of meeting with one so unhackneyed in the world, as not 
to be yet influenced by custom to forget the use of reason : for 
certain it is, that the prevalence of fashion makes the greatest 
absurdities pass uncensured, and the mind naturally accommo- 
dates itself even to the most ridiculous improprieties, if they 
occur frequently.” 

“ I should have' hoped,” said I, “ that the humane proposal 
made yesterday by your lordship would have had more effect.” 

“ O,” cried he, laughing, “ I was so far from expecting any suc- 
cess, that I shall think myself very fortunate if I escape the wit of 
Mr. Coverley in a lampoon, yet I spoke openly because I do not 
wish to conceal that I am no friend to gaming.” 

After this, he took up the New Bath Guide, and read it with 
me till supper-time. In our way down-stairs. Lady Louisa said, 
“ I thought, brother, you were engaged this evening?” 

“ Yes, sister,” answered he, “and I have been engaged.” And 


/ 


332 


EVELINA. 


he bowed to me with an air of gallantry that rather confused 
me. 

Sopt. 23. 

Almost insensibly have three days glided on since I wrote last, 
and so serenely, that, but for your absence, I could not have 
formed a wish. My residence here is much happier than I had 
dared expect. The attention with which Lord Orville honours 
me is as uniform as it is flattering, and seems to result from 
a benevolence of heart that proves him as much a stranger to 
caprice as to pride ; for, as his particular civilities arose from a 
generous resentment at seeing me neglected, so will they, I trust, 
continue as long as I shall, in any degree, deserve them. I am 
now, not merely easy, but even gay in his presence : such is the 
efiect of true politeness, that it banishes all restraint and embar- 
rassment. When we walk out, he condescends to be my com- 
panion, and keeps by my side all the way we go. When we read, 
he marks the passages most worthy to be noticed, draws out my 
sentiments, and favours me with his own ; at table, where he 
always sits next to me, he obliges me by a thousand name- 
less attentions ; while the distinguishing good-breeding with 
which he treats me, prevents my repining at the visibly- felt supe- 
riority of the rest of the company. A thousand occasional 
meetings could not have brought us to that degree of social free- 
dom which four days spent under the same roof have, insen- 
sibly, been productive of : and, as my only friend in this house, 
Mrs. Selwyn, is too much engrossed in perpetual conversation 
to attend much to me, Lord Orville seems to regard me as a 
helpless stranger, and, as such, to think me entitled to his good 
oflSces and protection. Indeed, my dear sir, I have reason to 
hope that the depreciating opinion he formerly entertained of 
me is succeeded by one infinitely more partial. It may be that 
I flatter myself; but yet his looks, his attentions, his desire of 
drawing me into conversation, and his solicitude to oblige me, 
all conspire to make me hope I do not. In short my dearest 
sir, these last four happy days would repay me for months of 
sorrow and pain ! 


EVELINA. 


333 


LETTER LXVII. 
Evelina in continuation. 


Clifton, Sept. 24. 

This morning I came down-stairs very early ; and supposing 
that the family would not assemble for some time, I strolled out, 
purposing to take a long walk, in the manner I was wont to do 
at Berry Hill, before breakfast ; but I had scarce shut the garden- 
gate, before I was met by a gentleman, who, immediately bowing 
to me, I recollected to be the unhappy Mr. Macartney. Very 
much surprised, I courtesied, and stopped till he came up to me. 
He was still in mourning, but looked better than when I saw 
him last, though he had the same air of melancholy which so 
much struck me at first sight of him. 

Addressing me with the utmost respect, “ I am happy, 
madam,” said he, “ to have met with you soon. I came to Bris- 
tol but yesterday, and have had no small diflBculty in tracing 
you to Clifton.” 

“ Did you know, then, of my being here ?” 

“ I did, madam ; the sole motive of my journey was to see you. 
I have been to Berry Hill, and there I had ray intelligence, and 
at the same lime the unwelcome information of your ill health.” 

“ Good God ! sir, — and can you possibly have taken so much 
trouble ?” 

“ Trouble ! O madam, could there be any, to return you, the 
moment I had the power, my personal acknowledgments for 
your goodness ?” 

1 then inquired after Madame Duval and the Snow-hill family. 
He told me they were all well, and that Madame Duval proposed 
soon returning to Paris. When I congratulated him on looking 
better, “ It is yourself., madam,” said he, “ you should congratu- 
late ; for to your humanity alone it may now be owing that I 
exist at all.” He then told me, that his affairs were now in 
a less desperate situation ; and that he hoped, by the assistance 
of time and reason, to accommodate his mind to a more cheer- 


334 


EVELINA. 


ful submission to his fate. “ The interest you so generously tooh 
in my affliction,” added he, “ assures me you will not be displeased 
to hear of my better fortune ; I was therefore eager to acquaint 
you with it.” He then told me that his friend, the moment he 
had received his letter, quitted Paris, and flew to give him his 
personal assistance and consolation. With a heavy heart he 
acknowledged he accepted it ; “ but yet,” he added, “ I have 
accepted it; and therefore, as bound equally by duty and honour, 
my first step was to hasten to the benefactress of my distress, 
and to return (presenting me something in a paper) the only 
part of my obligations that can be returned : for the rest, 1 have 
nothing but my gratitude to ofler, and must always be contented 
to consider myself her debtor.” 

I congratulated him most sincerely upon his dawning pros- 
perity, but begged he would not deprive me of the pleasure of 
being his friend ; and declined receiving the money till his affairs 
were more settled. 

While this point was in agitation, I heard Lord Orville’s voice 
inquiring of the gardener if he had seen me. I immediately 
opened the garden-gate ; and his lordship, advancing to me with 
quickness, said, “ Good God, Miss Anville, have you been out 
alone ? Breakfast has been ready some time, and I have been 
round the garden in search of you.” 

“ Your lordship has been very good,” said I ; “ but I hope you 
have not waited ?” 

“ Not waited !” repeated he, smiling : “ do you think w^e could 
sit down quietly to breakfast, with the idea that you had run 
away from us ? But come ” (oflfering to hand me), “ if we do not 
return, they will suppose I am run away too ; and they very 
naturally may, as they know the attraction of the magnet that 
draws me.” 

“I will come, ray lord,” said I, rather embarrassed, “in two 
minutes.” Then, turning to Mr. Macartney, with yet more 
embarrassment, I wished him good morning. 

He advanced towards the garden with the paper still in his 
hand. 


EVELINA. 


335 , 


“ No, no,” cried I, “ some other time.” 

I then, madam, having the honor of seeing you again ?” 

I did not dare take the liberty of inviting anybody to the 
house of Mrs. Beaumont, nor yet had I presence of mind to make 
an excuse ; and, therefore, not knowing how to refuse him, I 
said, “Perhaps you may be this way again to-morrow morning, 
and I believe I shall walk out before breakfast.” 

He bowed, and went away ; while I, turning again to Lord 
Orville, saw his countenance so much altered, that I was fright- 
ened at what I had so hastily said. He did not again offer me 
his hand ; but walked silent and slow by my side. Good 
Heaven ! thought I, what may he not suppose fromt his adven- 
ture ? May he not, by my desire of meeting Mr. Macartney to- 
morrow, imagine it was by design I walked out to meet him to- 
day ? Tormented by this apprehension, I determined to avail 
myself of the freedom which his behaviour since I came hither 
has encouraged ; and, since he would not ask any questions, begin 
an explanation myself. I therefore slackened my pace to gain 
time, and then said, “ Was not your lordship surprised to see me 
speaking with a stranger ?” 

“A stranger !” repeated he ; “ is it possible that gentleman can 
be a stranger to you ?” 

“ No, my lord,” said I, stammering, “ not to me — but only it 
might look — he might seem ”* 

“ No, believe me,” said he, with a forced smile, “ I could never 
suppose Miss Anville would make an appointment with a 
stranger.” 

“ An appointment, my lord,” repeated I, colouring violently. 

“ Pardon me, madam,” answered he, “ but I thought I had 
heard one.” 

I was so much confounded that I could not speak : yet, finding 
he walked quietly on, I could not endure he should make his own 
interpretation of my silence ; and, therefore, as soon as I recovered 
from ray surprise, I said, “ Indeed, my lord, you are much mistaken : 
Mr. Macartney had particular business with me — and I could not^ 
— I knew not how to refuse seeing him ; — but, indeed, my lord — 


336 


EVELINA. 


I had not— he had not,” — I stammered so terribly that I could 
not go on. 

“ I am very sorry,” said he, gravely, “ that I have been so 
unfortunate as to distress you ; but I should not have followed 
you had I not imagined you were merely walking out for the air.” 

“ And so I was !” cried I, eagerly : “ indeed, my lord, I was I 
My meeting with Mr. Macartney was quite accidental ; and if 
your lordship thinks there was any impropriety in my seeing him 
to-morrow, 1 am ready to give up that intention.” 

“ If I think !” said he, in a tone of surprise : “ surely Miss 
Anville cannot leave the arbitration of a point so delicate to one 
who is ignorant of all the circumstances which attend it ?” 

“If,” said I, “it was worth your lordship’s time to hear them, 
you should not be ignorant of the circumstances which attend 
it.” 

“ The sweetness of Miss Anville’s disposition,” said he, in a 
softened voice, “ I have long admired ; and the offer of a com- 
munication, which does me so much honour, is too grateful to 
me not to be eagerly caught at.” 

Just then Mrs. Selwyn opened the parlour-window, and our con- 
versation ended. I was rallied upon my passion for solitary 
walking ; but no questions were asked me. 

When breakfast was over, I hoped to have some opportunity 
of speaking with Lord Orville ; but Lord Merton and Mr. 
Coverley came in, and insisted upon his opinion of the spot they 
had fixed upon for the “ old women ” race. The ladies declared 
they would be of the party ; and accordingly we all went. 

The race is to be run in Mrs. Beaumont’s garden ; the two gen- 
tlemen are as anxious as if their joint lives depended upon it* 
They have at length fixed upon objects ; but they have found 
great difficulty in persuading them to practise running, in order 
to try their strength. This grand affair is to be decided next 
Thursday. 

When we returned to the house, the entrance of more company 
still prevented my having any conversation with Lord Orville. I 
was very much chagrined, as I knew he was engaged at the Hot- 


EVELINA. 


337 


wells in the afternoon. Seeing, therefore, no probability of 
speaking to him before the time of my meeting Mr. Macartney 
arrived, I determined that, rather than risk his ill opinion I would 
leave Mr. Macartney to his own suggestions. 

Yet when I reflected upon his peculiar situation, his poverty, 
his sadness, and, more than all the rest, the idea I knew he enter- 
tained of what he calls his obligations to me, I could not resolve 
upon a breach of promise which might be attributed to causes of 
all others the most ofiensive to one whom misfortune has made 
extremely suspicious of slights and contempt. 

After the most uneasy consideration, I at length determined 
upon writing an excuse, which would at once save me from either 
meeting or afironting him. I therefore begged Mrs. Selwyn’s 
leave to send her man to the Hotwells, which she instantly 
granted ; and then I wrote the following note : 

To Mr. Macartney. 

“ Sir : 

“ As it will not be in my power to walk out to-morrow 
morning, I would by no means give you the trouble of coming to 
Clifton. I hope, however, to have the pleasure of seeing you 
before you quit Bristol. I am, sir, your obedient servant, 

“Evelina Anville.” 

I desired the servant to inquire at the pump-room where Mr. 
Macartney lived, and returned to the parlour. 

As soon as the company dispersed, the ladies retired to dress. 
I then, unexpectedly, found myself alone with Lord Orville ; who, 
the moment I rose to follow Mrs. Selwyn, advanced to me, and 
said, “Will Miss Anville pardon my impatience, if I remind 
her of the promise she was so good as to make me this morning 

I stopped, and would have returned to my seat ; but before I 
had time, the servants came to lay the cloth. He retreated, and 
went towards the window ; and while I was considering in what 
manner to begin, I could not help asking myself what right I had 

15 


338 


EVELINA. 


to communicate the affairs of Mr. Macartney ; and I doubted 
whether, to clear myself from one act of imprudence, I had not 
committed another. 

Distressed by this reflection, I thought it best to quit the room 
and give myself some time for consideration before 1 spoke; and, 
therefore, only saying I must hasten to dress, I ran up-stairs, 
rather abruptly, I own ; and so, I fear. Lord Orville must think. 
Yet what could I do ? Unused to the situations in which I find 
myself, and embarrassed by the slightest difficulties, I seldom, till 
too late, discover how I ought to act. * 

Just as we were all assembled to dinner, Mrs. Selwyn’s man, 
coming into the parlour, presented to me a letter, and said, “ I 
can’t find out Mr. Macartney, madam; but the post office people 
will let you know if they hear of him.” 

I was extremely ashamed of this public message ; and, meeting 
the eyes of Lord Orville, which were earnestly fixed on me, my 
confusion redoubled, and I knew not which way to look. All 
dinner-time he was as silent as myself ; and the moment it was in 
my power I left the table, and went to my own room. Mrs. 
Selwyn presently followed me ; and her questions obliged me to 
own almost all the particulars of my acquaintance with Mr. 
Macartney, in order to excuse my writing to him. She said that 
it was a most romantic affair, and spoke her sentiments with 
great severity ; declaring that she had no doubt but he was an 
adventurer and an impostor. 

And now, my dear sir, I am totally at a loss what I ought to 
do ; the more I reflect, the more sensible I am of the utter 
impropriety, nay, treachery of revealing the story, and publishing 
the misfortunes and poverty of Mr. Macartney, who has an 
undoubted right to my secrecy and discretion, and whose letter 
charges me to regard his communication as sacred. — And yet, 
the appearance of mystery — perhaps something worse — which 
this affair must have to Lord Orville, — his seriousness, — and the 
promise I have made him, are inducements scarce to be resisted 
for trusting him with the openness he has reason to expect from 
me. 


EVELINA. 


339 


I am equally distressed, too, whether or not I should see Mr. 
Macartney to-morrow morning. 

O, sir, could I now be enlightened by your counsel, from 
what anxiety and perplexity should I be relieved ! 

But no, — I ought not to betray Mr. Macartney, and I will not 
forfeit a confidence which would never have been reposed in me 
but from a reliance upon my honour, which I should blush to 
find myself unworthy of. Desirous as I am of the good opinion 
of Lord Orville, I will endeavour to act as if I was guided by 
your advice ; and, making it my sole aim to deserve it, leave to 
time and to fate my success or disappointment. 

Since I have formed this resolution, my mind is more at ease : 
but I will not finish my letter till the affair is decided. 


Sept. 25. 

I rose very early this morning ; and, after a thousand differ- 
ent plans, not being able to resolve upon giving poor Mr. Macart- 
ney leave to suppose I neglected him, I thought it incumbent 
upon me to keep my word, since he had not received my letter ; 

I therefore determined to make my own apologies, not to stay 
with him two minutes, and to excuse myself from meeting him 
any more. 

Yet, uncertain whether I was wrong or right, it was with fear 
and trembling that I opened the garden-gate; judge then of my 
feelings, when the first object I saw was Lord Orville ! he, too, 
looked extremely disconcerted, and said, in a hesitating manner, 
“Pardon me, madam, — I did not intend, — I did not imagine 
you would have been here so soon — or — or I would not have 
come.” And then, with a hasty bow, he passed me, and pro- 
ceeded to the garden. 

I was scarce able to stand, so greatly did I feel myself shocked ; ' 
but upon saying, almost involuntarily, “ O, my lord !” he turned 
back, and after a short pause, said, “Did you speak to me 
madam ?” 

I could not immediately answer ; I seemed choked, and was 
even forced to support myself by the garden-gate. 


340 


EVELINA. 


Lord Orville, soon recovering his dignity, said, “ I know not 
how to apologize for being, just now, at this place ; and I cannot 
immediately— if ever — clear myself from the imputation of im- 
pertinent curiosity, to which I fear you will attribute it : however, 
at present, I will only entreat your pardon without detaining you 
any longer.” Again he bowed, and left me. 

For some moments I remained fixed to the same spot, and in 
the same position, immoveably as if I had been transformed to a 
stone. My first impulse was to call him back, and instantly tell 
him the whole affair ; but I checked this desire, though I would 
have given the world to have indulged it ; something like pride 
aided what I thought due to Mr. Macartney, and I determined 
not only to keep his secret, but to delay any sort of explanation 
till Lord Orville should condescend to request it. 

Slowly he walked ; and before he entered the house he looked 
back, but hastily withdrew his eyes upon finding I observed him. 

Indeed, my dear sir, you cannot easily imagine a situation more 
uncomfortable than mine was at that time ; to be suspected by 
Lord Orville of any clandestine actions wounded my soul ; I was 
too much discomposed to wait for Mr. Macartney, nor, in truth, . 
could I endure to have the design of my staying so well known. 
Yet I was so extremely agitated that I could hardly move ; and 
I have reason to believe Lord Orville, from the parlour-window, 
saw me tottering along ; for, before I had taken five steps, he 
came out, and hastening to meet me, said, “ I fear you are not 
well ; pray, allow me_ (offering his arm) to assist you.” 

“ No, my lord,” said I, with all the resolution I could assume ; 
yet I was affected by an attention at that time so little expected, 
and forced to turn away my head to conceal my emotion. 

“ You said he, with earnestness, “ indeed you must, — I 

am sure you are not well ; — refuse me not the honour of assist- 
ing you;” and, almost forcibly, he took my hand, and, drawing 
it under his arm, obliged me to lean upon him. That T sub- 
mitted was partly the effect of surprise at an earnestness so 
uncommon in Lord Orville, and, partly, that I did not just then 
dare trust my voice to make any objection. 


EVELINA. 


341 


When we came to the house, he led me into the parlour, and 
to a chair, and begged to know if I would not have a glass of 
water. 

“ No, my lord, I thank you,” said I, “ I am perfectly recovered 
and, rising, I walked to the window, where, for some time, I pre- 
tended to be occupied in looking at the garden. 

Determined as I was to act honourably by Mr. Macartney, I 
yet most anxiously wished to be restored to the good opinion of 
Lord Orville ; but his silence and the thoughtfulness of his air 
discouraged me from speaking. 

My situation soon grew disagreeable and embarrassing,' and I 
resolved to return to my chamber till breakfast was ready. To 
remain longer I feared might seem asking for his inquiries ; and 
I was sure it would ill become me to be more eager to speak 
than he was to hear. 

Just as I reached the door, turning to me hastily, he said, 
“ Are you going. Miss Anville ?” 

“ I am, my lord,” answered I ; yet I stopped. 

“ Perhaps to return to — but I beg your pardon !” He spoke 
.with a degree of agitation that made me readily comprehend he 
meant to the garden ; and I instantly said, “ To my own room, 
my lord.” And again I would have gone ; but, convinced by 
my answer that I understood him, I believe he was sorry for the 
insinuation : he approached me with a very serious air, though 
at the same time he forced a smile, and said, “ I know not what 
evil genius pursues me this morning, but I seem destined to do 
* or to say something I ought not : I am so much ashamed of 
myself, that I can scarce solicit your forgiveness.” 

“ My forgiveness, my lord !” cried I, abashed rather than elated 
by his condescension ; “surely you cannot — you are not serious?” 

“ Indeed, never more so ! yet, if I may be my own intepreter. 
Miss Anville’s countenance pronounces my pardon.” 

“ I know not, my lord, how any one can pardon who never 
has been offended.” 

“ You are very good ; yet I could expect no less from a sweet- 
ness of disposition which baffles all comparison : you will not 


342 


EVELINA. 


think I am an encroacher, and that I take advantage of your 
goodness, should I once more remind you of the promise you 
vouchsafed me yesterday ?” 

“No, indeed: on the contrary, I shall be very happy to acquit 
myself in your lordship’s opinion.” 

“ Acquittal you need not,” said he, leading me again to the 
window; “yet I own my curiosity is strongly excited.” 

When I was seated, I found myself much at a loss what to say ; 
yet, after a short silence, assuming all the courage in my power, 

“ Will you not, my lord,” said I, “ think me trifling and capri- 
cious should I own I have repented the promise I made, and 
should I entreat your lordship not to insist upon my strict per- 
formance of it ?” — I spoke so hastily, that I did not, at the time, 
consider the impropriety of what I said. 

As he was entirely silent and profoundly attentive, I continued 
to speak without interruption. 

“ If your lordship, by any other means, knew the circumstances 
attending my acquaintance with Mr. Macartney, I am most sure 
you would yourself disapprove my relating them. He is a gentle- 
man, and has been very unfortunate ; — but I am not, I think, at 
liberty to say more : yet I am sure, if he knew your lordship 
wished to hear any particulars of his affairs, he would readily 
consent to my acknowledging them. Shall I, my lord, ask his 
permission ?” 

“ His affairs !” repeated Lord Orville ; “ by no means ; I have 
not the least curiosity about them.” 

“ I beg your lordship’s pardon, — but indeed I had understood * 
the contrary.” 

“ Is it possible, madam, you could suppose the affairs of an 
utter stranger can excite my curiosity ?” 

The gravity and coldness with which he asked this question 
very much abashed me. But Lord Orville is the most delicate 
of men ! and presently recollecting himself, he added, “ I mean 
not to speak with indifference of any friend of yours, — far from 
it ; any such will always command my good wishes : yet I own 
I am rather disappointed; and though I doubt not the justice 


EVELINA. 


343 


of your reason, to which I implicitly submit, you must not 
wonder that, when upon the point of being honoured with your 
confidence, I should feel the greatest regret at finding it with- 
drawn.” 

Do you think, my dear sir, I did not at that moment require 
all my resolution to guard me from frankly telling him whatever 
he wished to hear? yet I rejoice that I did not; for, added to 
the actual wrong I should have done. Lord Orville himself, when 
he had heard, would, I am sure, have blamed me. Fortunately, 
this thought occurred to me ; and I said, “ Your lordship shall 
yourself be my judge ! the promise I made, though voluntary, 
was rash and inconsiderate ; yet, had it concerned myself, I 
would not have hesitated in fulfilling it ; but the gentleman 
whose affairs I should be obliged to relate ” 

“ Pardon me,” cried he, “ for interrupting you ; yet allow me 
to assure you I have not the slightest desire to be acquainted 
with his affairs, further than what belongs to the motives which 

induced you yesterday morning ” He stopped ; but there 

was no occasion to say more. 

“ That, my lord,” cried I, I will tell you honestly. Mr. 
Macartney had some particular business with me, and I could 
not take the liberty to ask him hither.” 

“ And why not? Mrs. Beaumont, I am sure ” 

“ I could not, my lord, think of intruding upon Mrs. Beau- 
mont’s complaisance ; and so with the same hasty folly I prom- 
ised your lordship, I much more rashly promised to meet him.” 

“ And did you ?” 

“No, my lord,” said I, colouring; “I returned before he 
came.” 

Again, for some time, we were both silent ; yet unwilling to 
leave him to reflections which could not but be to my disadvan- 
tage, I summoned sufficient courage to say, “ There is no young 
creature, my lord, who so greatly wants, or so earnestly wishes, 
for the advice and assistance of her friends as I do : I am new 
to the world, and unused to acting for myself ; — my intentions 
are never wilfully blameable, yet I err perpetually ! I have 




EVELINA. 


hitherto been blessed with the most affectionate of friends, and 
indeed, the ablest of men, to guide and instruct me upon every 
occasion : but he is too distant now to be applied to at the 
moment I want his aid ; and here^ there is not a human being 
whose counsel I can ask.’^ 

“ Would to Heaven,” cried he, with a countenance from 
which all coldness and gravity were banished, and succeeded by 
the mildest benevolence, “ that I were worthy — and capable — of 
supplying the place of such a friend to Miss Anville I” 

“ You do me but too much honour,” said I ; “ yet I hope your 
lordship’s candour, perhaps I ought to say indulgence, will make 
some allowance, on account of my inexperience, for behaviour so 
inconsiderate ; may I, my lord, hope that you will 

“ May I,” cried he, “ hope that you will pardon the ill grace 
with which I have submitted to my disappointment ? and that 
you will permit me” (kissing my hand) “thus to seal my 
peace ?” 

“ Our peace, my lord ?” said I, with revived spirits. 

“ This then,” said he, again pressing it to his lips, “ for our 
peace : and now, are we not friends ?” 

Just then the door opened, and I had only time to withdraw 
my hand before the ladies came in to breakfast. 

I have been all day the happiest of human beings ! to be thus 
reconciled to Lord Orville, and yet to adhere to my resolution, 
what could I wish for more ? he too has been very cheerful, and 
more attentive, more obliging to me than ever. Yet Heaven 
forbid I should again be in a similar situation! for I cannot 
express how much uneasiness I have suffered from the fear of 
incurring his ill opinion. 

But what will poor Mr. Macartney think of me ? Happy as I 
am, I much regret the necessity I have been under of disappoint- 
ing him. 

Adieu, my dearest sir. 


EVELINA. 


345 


LETTER LXVIIl. 
Mr. Villars to Evelina 


Berry HUl, Sept. 28. 

Dead to the world, and equally insensible to its pleasures or 
its pains, I long since bade adieu to all joy, and defiance to all 
sorrow, but what should spring from my Evelina, sole source to 
me of all earthly felicity. How strange, then, is it, that the 
letter in which she tells me she is the happiest of human beings 
should give me most mortal inquietude ! 

Alas, my child ! that innocence, the first best gift of Heaven^ 
should, of all others, be the blindest to its own danger, the most 
exposed to treachery, and the least able to defend itself, in a 
world where it is littlo known, less valued, and perpetually de- 
ceived. 

Would to Heaven you were here ! then, by degrees and with 
gentleness, I might enter upon a subject too delicate for distant 
discussion. Yet is it too interesting, and the situation too crit- 
ical, to allow of delay. 0, my Evelina, your situation is critical 
indeed ! your peace of mind is at stake, and every chance for 
your future happiness may depend upon the conduct of the pres- 
ent moment. 

Hitherto I have forborne to speak with you upon the most 
important of all concerns, the state of your heart : alas, I need 
no information ! I have been silent, indeed, but I have not been 
blind. 

Long, and with the deepest regret, have I perceived the 
ascendency which Lord Orville has gained upon your mind. You 
will start at the mention of his name, you will tremble every 
word you read ; I grieve to give pain to my gentle Evelina, but I 
dare not any longer spare her. 

Your first meeting with Lord Orville was. decisive. Lively, 
fearless, free from all other impressions, such a man as you des- 
cribe him could not fail of exciting your admiration ; and the 
more dangerously, because he seemed as unconsious of his power 

15 ^ 


346 


EVELINA. 


as you of your weakness: and therefore you had no alarm either 
from his vanity or you own prudence. 

Young, animated, entirely off your guard, and thoughtless of 
consequences, imagincition took the reins t and reason^ slow-paced, 
though sure footed, was unequal to the race of so eccentric and 
flighty a companion. How rapid was then my Evelina’s pro- 
gress through those regions of fancy and passion whither her 
new guide conducted her ! She saw Lord Orville at a ball, and 
he was the most amiable of men ! She met him again at another, 
and he had every virtue under heaven ! 

I mean not to depreciate the merit of Lord Orville, who, one 
mysterious instance alone excepted, seems to have deserved the 
idea you have formed of his character : but it was not time^ it 
was not the knowledge of his worth obtained your regard : your 
new comrade had not patience to wait any trial ; her glowing 
pencil dipped in the vivid colours of her creative ideas, painted 
to you, at the moment of your first acquaintance, all the excel- 
lences, all the good and rare qualities which a great length of 
time and intimacy could alone have really discovered. 

You flattered yourself that your partiality was the effect of 
esteem, founded upon a general love of merit and a principle of 
justice ; and your heart, which fell the sacrifice of your error, 
was totally gone ere you expected it was in danger. 

A thousand times have I been upon the point of showing you 
the perils of your situation ; but the same inexperience which 
occasioned your mistake, I hoped, with the assistance of time and 
absence, would effect a cure : I was, indeed, most unwilling to 
destroy your illusion, while I dared hope it might itself contri- 
bute to the restoration of your tranquillity ; since your ignorance 
of the danger and force of your attachment might possibly prevent 
that despondency with which young people, in similar circum- 
stances, are apt to persuade themselves, that what is only diffi- 
cult is absolutely impossible. 

But now, since you have again met, and have become more 
intimate than ever, all my hope from silence and seeming igno- 
rance is at an end. 


EVELINA. 


347 


Awake then, my dear, my deluded child, awake to the sense 
of your danger, and exert yourself to avoid the evils with which 
it threatens you — evils which to a mind like yours, are most to 
be dreaded ; secret repining, and concealed, yet consuming re- 
gret ! Make a noble effort for the recovery of your peace, which 
now, with sorrow I see it, depends wholly upon the presence of 
Lord Orville. This effort may indeed be painful ; but trust to 
my experience, when I assure you it is requisite. 

You must quit him! his sight is baneful to your repose; his 
society is death to your future tranquillity ! Believe me, my be- 
loved child, my heart aches for your suffering, while it dictates 
its necessity. 

^Could I flatter myself that Lord Orville would, indeed, be sen- 
sible of your worth, and act with a nobleness of mind which 
should prove it congenial to his own, then would I leave my 
Evelina to the unmolested enjoyment of the cheerful society and 
increasing regard of a man she so greatly admires ; but this is 
not an age in which we may trust to appearances ; and impru- 
dence is much sooner regretted than repaired. Your health you 
tell me, is much mended ; can you then consent to leave Bristol ? 
not abruptly, that I do not desire, but in a few days from the 
time you receive this ? I will write to Mrs. Selwyn, and tell her 
how much I wish your return ; and Mrs. Clinton can take suffi- 
cient care of you. 

I have meditated upon every possible expedient that might 
tend to your happiness, ere I fixed upon exacting from you a 
compliance which, I am convinced, will be most painful to you ; 
but I can satisfy myself in none. This will at least be safe ; and 
as to success, we must leave it to time. 

I am very glad to hear of Mr. Macartney’s welfare. 

Adieu, my dearest child I Heaven preserve and strengthen 
you! 


A. V. 


348 


EVELINA. 


LETTER LXIX. 

Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 

Clifton, Sept. 28. 

Sweetly, most sweetly have two days more passed since 1 
wrote ; but I have been too much engaged to be exact in my 
journal. 

To-day has been less tranquil. Tt was destined for the decision 
of the important bet, and has been productive of general con- 
fusion throughout the house. It was settled that the race should 
be run at five o’clock in the afternoon. Lord Merton breakfasted 
here, and staid till noon. He wanted to engage the ladies to het 
on his side^ in the true spirit of gaming, without seeing the racers. 
But he could only prevail on Lady Louisa, as Mrs. Selwyn said 
she never laid a wager against her own wishes, and Mrs. Beau- 
mont would not take sides. As for me, I was not applied to. ' It 
is impossible for negligence to be more pointed than that of Lord 
Merton to me in the presence of Lady Louisa. 

But, just before dinner, I happened to be alone in the drawing- 
room, when his lordship suddenly returned ; and, coming in with 
his usual familiarity, he was beginning, “ You see, Lady Louisa,” 
but stopping short, “ Pray where’s everybody gone ?” 

“ Indeed I don’t know, my lord.” 

He then shut the door : and with a great alteration in his 
face and manner, advanced eagerly towards me, and said, “ How 
glad I am, my sweet girl, to meet you at last alone ? By my 
soul, I began to think there was a plot against me, for I’ve never 
been able to have you a minute to myself” And very freely he 
seized my hand. 

I was so much surprised at this address, after having been so 
long totally neglected, that I could make no other answer than 
staring at him with unfeigned astonishment. 

“ Why now,” continued he, “ if you was not the cruellest little 
angel in the world, you would have helped me to some expedient : 
for you see how I am watched here ; Lady Louisa’s eyes are 


EVELINA. 


349 


never oflf me. She gives me a charming foretaste of the pleasures 
of a wife ! however, it won’t last long.” 

Disgusted to the greatest degree, I attempted to draw away 
my hand : but I believe I should not have succeeded, if Mrs. 
Beaumont had not made her appearance. He turned from me 
with the greatest assurance, and said, “ How are you, ma’am ? 
how is Lady Louisa ? you see I can’t live a moment out of the 
house.” 

Could you, my dearest sir, have believed it possible for such 
effrontery to be in man ? 

Before dinner came Mr. Coverley, and before five o’clock, Mr. 
Lovel and some other company. The place marked out for the 
race was a gravel walk in Mrs. Beaumont’s garden, and the 
length of the ground twenty yards. When we were summoned 
to the course the two poor old women made their appearance. 
Though they seemed very healthy for their time of life, they yet 
looked so weak, so infirm, so feeble, that T could feel no sensa- 
tion but that of pity at the sight. However, this was not the 
general sense of the company ; for they no sooner came forward 
than they were greeted with a laugh from every beholder. Lord 
Orville excepted, who looked very grave during the whole trans- 
action. Doubtless he must be greatly discontented at the dis- 
sipated conduct and extravagance of a man with whom he is soon 
to be so nearly connected. 

For some time the scene was truly ridiculous : the agitation 
of the parties concerned, and the bets that were laid upon the 
old women were absurd beyond measure. Who are you for ? 
and whose side are you of? was echoed from mouth to mouth 
by the whole company. Lord Merton and Mr. Coverley were 
both so excessively gay and noisy, that I soon found they had been 
too free in drinking to their success. They handed, with loud 
shouts, the old women to the race ground, and encouraged them 
by liberal promises to exert themselves. 

When the signal was given for them to set oflf, the poor 
creatures, feeble and frightened, ran against each other; and, 
neither of them able to support the shock, they both fell on the 


350 


EVELINA. 


Lord Merton and Mr. Coverley flew to their assistance. Seats 
were brought for them; and they each drank a glass of wine. 
They complained of being much bruised ; for, heavy and help- 
less, they had not been able to save themselves, but fell with 
their whole weight upon the gravel. However, as they seemed 
equal sufierers, both parties were too eager to have the affair 
deferred. 

Again, therefore, they set off*, and hobbled along, nearly even 
with each other for some time ; yet frequently, to the inexpressi- 
ble diversion of the company, they stumbled and tottered : and 
the confused hallooing of Now^ Coverley! Now^ Merton! ran 
from side to side during the whole affair. 

Not long after, a foot of one of the poor women slipped, and 
with great force she came again to the ground. Involuntarily, 
I sprung forward to assist her ; but Lord Merton, to whom she 
did not belong, stopped me, calling out, “No foul play! no foul 
play !” 

Mr. Coverley then, repeating the same words, went himself to 
help her, and insisted that the other should stop. A debate 
ensued ; but the poor ereature was too much hurt to move, and 
declared her utter inability to make another attempt. Mr. 
Coverley was quite brutal : he swore at her with unmanly 
rage, and seemed scarce able to refrain even from striking 
her. 

Lord Merton then, in great rapture, said it was a hollow 
thing ; but Mr. Coverley contended that the fall was accidental, 
and time should be allowed for the woman to recover. How- 
ever, all the company being against him, he was pronounced the 
loser. 

We then went to the drawing-room to tea. After which, 
the evening being remarkably warm, we all walked in the gar- 
den. Lord Merton was quite riotous, and Lady Louisa in high 
spirits; but Mr. Coverley endeavoured in vain to conceal his 
chagrin. 

As Lord Orville was thoughtful, and walked by himself, I 
expected that, as usual, I should pass unnoticed, and be left to 
ray own meditations ; but this was not the case ; for Lord Mer- 


EVEIJNA. 


351 


ton, entirely off his guard, giddy equally from wine and success, 
was very troublesome to me ; and, regardless of the presence of 
Lady Louisa, which hitherto has restrained him even from com- 
mon civility, he attached himself to me, during the walk, with a 
freedom of gallantry that put me extremely out of countenance. 
He paid me the most high-flown compliments ; and frequently 
and forcibly seized my hand, though I repeatedly, and with 
undissembled anger, drew it back. Lord Orville, I saw, watched 
us with earnestness ; and Lady Louisa’s smiles were converted 
into looks of disdain. 

I could not bear to be thus situated ; and complaining I was 
tired, I quickened my pace, with intention to return to the 
house; but Lord Merton, hastily following, caught my hand, 
and saying the day was his own^ vowed he would not let me go. 

“You must, my lord,” cried I, extremely flurried. 

“ You are the most charming girl in the world,” said he, “ an^,' 
never looked better than at this moment.” 

“My lord,” cried Mrs. Selwyn, advancing to us, “you don’t 
consider that the better Miss Anville looks the more striking is 
the contrast with your lordship ; therefore, for your own sake, I 
would advise you not to hold her.” 

“ Egad, my lord,” cried Mr. Coverley, “ I don’t see what right 
you have to the best old and the best young woman too in the 
same day.” 

“ Best young woman P' repeated Mr. Lovel ; “ ’pon honour. 
Jack, you have made a most unfortunate speech : however, if 
Lady Louisa can pardon you, — and her ladyship is all goodness, 
— I am sure nobody else can ; for you have committed an out- 
rageous solecism in good manners.” 

“ And pray, sir,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “ under what denomination 
may your own speech pass?” 

Mr. Lovel, turning another way, affected not to hear her: 
and Mr. Coverley, bowing to Lady Louisa, said, “ Her ladyship 
is well acquainted with my devotion ; but, egad, T don’t know 
how it is, I had always an unlucky turn at an epigram, and 
never could resist a smart play upon words in my life.” 


352 


EVELINA. 


“ Pray, my lord,” cried I, “ let go my hand ! pray, Mrs. Sel- 
V7yn, speak for me.” 

“ My lord,” said Mrs, Selwyn, “ in detaining Miss Anville any 
longer you only lose time; for we are already as well convinced 
of your valour and your strength as if you were to hold her an 
age.” 

“ My lord,” said Mrs. Beaumont, “ I must beg leave to inter- 
fere : I know not if Lady Louisa can pardon you ; but as this 
young lady is at my house, I do not choose to have her made 
uneasy.” 

“/ pardon him !” cried Lady Louisa ; “ I declare I am mon- 
strous glad to get rid of him.” 

“ Egad, my lord,” cried Mr. Coverley, “ while you are grasping 
at a shadow you’ll lose a substance ; you’d best make your peace 
while you can.” 

“ Pray, Mr. Coverley, be quiet,” said Lady Louisa, peevishly ; 
“ for I declare I won’t speak to him. Brother,” taking hold of 
Lord Orville’s arm, “ will you walk in with me ?” 

“Would to Heaven,” cried I, frightened to see how much 
Lord Merton was in liquor, “ that I too had a brother ! and then 
I should not be exposed to such treatment.” 

Lord Orville, instantly quitting Lady Louisa, said, “ Will Miss 
Anville allow me the honour of taking that title?” and then, 
without waiting for any answer, he disengaged me from Lord 
Merton ; and handing me to Lady Louisa, “ Let me,” added he, 
“ take equal care of both my sisters and then, desiring her to 
take hold of one arm, and begging me to make use of the other 
we reached the house in a moment. Lord Merton, disordered 
as he was, attempted not to stop us. 

As soon as we entered the house, I withdrew my arm and 
courtesied my thanks, for my heart was too full for speech. 
Lady Louisa, evidently hurt at her brother’s condescension, and 
piqued extremely by Lord Merton’s behaviour, silently drew 
away hers; and biting her lips, with -a look of infinite vexation, 
walked sullenly up the hall. 

Lord Orville asked her if she would not go into the parlour ? 


EVELINA. 


353 


“ No,” answered she, haughtily ; “ I leave you and your new 
sister together and then she walked up-stairs. 

I was quite confounded at the pride and rudeness' of this 
speech. Lord Orville himself seemed thunderstruck : I turned 
from him, and went into the parlour : he followed me, saying, 
“ Must I now apologize to Miss Anville for the liberty of my 
interference ?— or ought I to apologize that I did not, as I 
wished, interfere sooner ?” 

“ 0, my lord,” cried I, with an emotion I could not repress, 
“ it is from you alone I meet with any respect ; — all others treat 
me with impertinence or contempt.” 

I am sorry I had not more command of myself, as he had 
reason just then to suppose I particularly meant his sister ; 
which, I am sure, must very much hurt him. 

“ Good Heaven,” cried he, “ that so much sweetness and merit 
can fail to excite the love and admiration so justly their due ! I 
cannot, I dare not express to you half the indignation I feel at 
this moment !” 

“ I am sorry, my lord,” said I, more calmly, “ to have raised 
it ; but yet, in a situation that calls for protection, to meet only 
with mortifications, — indeed, I am but ill formed to bear them !” 

“ My dear Miss Anville,” cried he, warmly, “ allow me to be 
your friend ; think of me as if I were indeed your brother ; and 
let me entreat you to accept my best services, if there is any 
thing in which I can be so happy as to show my regard, my 
rospect for you !” 

Before I had time to speak, the rest of the party entered the 
parlour ; and as I did not wish to see any thing more of Lord 
Merton, at least before he had slept, I determined to leave it. 
Lord Orville, seeing my design, said, as I passed him, “ Will you 
go ?” — “ Had not I best, my lord ?” said 1. — “ I am afraid,” said 
he, smiling, “ since I must now speak as your brother, I am 
afraid you had ; — you see you may trust me, since I can advise 
against my own interest.”- 

I then left the room, and have been writing ever since. And, 
methinks, I can never lament the rudeness of Lord Merton, as it 
has more than ever confirmed to me the esteem of Lord Orville. 


354 


EVELINA. 


LETTER LXX. 
Evelina in continuation. 


Sept. 80. 

O, SIR, what a strange incident have I to recite! what a field 
of conjecture to open 1 

Yesterday evening we all went to an assembly. Lord Orville 
presented tickets to the whole family ; and did me the honour, 
to the no small surprise of all here, I believe, to dance with me. 
But every day abounds in fresh instances of his condescending 
politeness; and he now takes every opportunity of calling me 
his f riend and his sister. 

Lord Merton offered a ticket to Lady Louisa ; but she was so 
much incensed against him, that she refused it with the utmost 
disdain : neither could he prevail upon her to dance with him ; 
she sat still the whole evening, and deigned not to look at or 
speak to him. To me her behaviour is almost the same : for 
she is cold, distant, and haughty, and her eyes express the great- 
est contempt. But for Lord Orville, how miserable would my 
residence here make me ! 

We were joined in the ball-room by Mr. Coverley, Mr. Lovel, 
and Lord Merton, who looked as if he was doing penance, and 
sat all the evening next to Lady Louisa, vainly endeavouring to 
appease her anger. 

Lord Orville began the minuets: he danced with a young 
lady who seemed to engage the general attention, as she had not 
been seen before. She is pretty, and looks mild and good- 
humoured. 

“ Pray, Mr. Lovel,” said Lady Louisa, “ who is that ?” 

“ Miss Belmont,” answered he, “ the young heiress : she came 
to the Wells yesterday.” 

Struck with the name, I involuntarily repeated it : but nobody 
heard me. 

“ What is her family ?” said Mrs. Beaumont. 


EVELINA. 


355 


“Have you heard of her ma’am?” cried he; “she is only 
daughter and heiress of Sir John Belmont.” 

Good Heaven, how did I start ! the name struck my ear like 
a thunderbolt. Mrs. Selwyn, who immediately looked at me, 
said, “ Be calm, my dear, and we will learn the truth of all 
this.” 

Till then I had never imagined her to be acquainted with my 
story ; but she has since told me that she knew my unhappy 
mother, and was well informed of the whole affair. 

She asked Mr. Lovel a multitude of questions ; and I gathered 
from his answers, that this young lady was just come from 
abroad with Sir John Belmont, who was now in London ; that 
she was under the care of his sister, Mrs. Paterson ; and that 
she would inherit a considerable estate. 

I cannot express the strange feelings with which I was agitated 
during this recital. What, my dearest sir, can it possibly mean ? 
Did you ever hear of any after-marriage ? — or must I suppose, 
that while the lawful child is rejected, another is adopted ? — I 
know not what to think ! I am bewildered with a contrariety of 
ideas ! 

When we came home, Mrs. Selwyn passed more than an hour 
in my room conversing upon this subject. She says that I ought 
instantly to go to town, find out my father, and have the affair 
cleared up. She assures me I have too strong a resemblance to 
my dear, though unknown mother, to allow of the least hesitation 
in my being owned when once I am seen. For my part, I have 
no wish but to act by your direction; 

I cannot give any account of the evening ; so disturbed, so 
occupied am I by this subject, that I can think of no other. I 
have entreated Mrs. Selwyn to observe the strictest secrecy, and 
she has promised that she will. Indeed, she has too much sense 
to be idly communicative. 

Loi-d Orville took notice of my being absent and silent ; but I 
ventured not to intrust him with the cause. Fortunately, he 
was not of the party at the time Mr. Lovel made the dis- 
covery. 


356 


EVELINA. 


Mrs. Selwyn says, that if you approve my going to town, she 
will herself accompany me. I had a thousand times rather ask 
the protection of Mrs. Mirvan, but after this offer, that will not 
be possible. 

Adieu, my dearest sir. I am sure you will write immediately, 
and I shall be all impatience till your letter arrives. 


LETTER LXXI. 

Evelina in continuation. 

Oct. 1. 

Good God, my dear sir, what a wonderful tale have I again 
to relate ! even yet I am not recovered from my extreme sur- 
prise. 

Yesterday morning, as soon as I had finished my hasty letter, 
I was summoned to attend a walking party to the Hotwells. It 
consisted only of Mrs. Selwyn and Lord Orville. The latter 
walked by my side all the way ; and his conversation dissipated 
my uneasiness, and insensibly restored my serenity. 

At the pump-room I saw Mr. Macartney ; I courtesied to 
him twice ere he would speak to me. When he did, I began to 
apologize for having disappointed him ; but I did not find it very 
easy to excuse myself, as Lord Orville’s eyes, with an expression 
of anxiety that distressed me, turned from him to me, and me to 
him, every word I spoke. Convinced, however, that I had really 
trifled with Mr. Macartney, I scrupled not to beg his pardon. 
He was then not merely appeased, but even grateful. 

He requested me to see him to-morrow : but I had not the 
folly to be again guilty of an indiscretion which had already 
caused me so much uneasiness ; and therefore I told him frankly 
that it was not in my power at present to see him but by acci- 
dent ; and to prevent his being offended, I hinted to him the 
reason I could not receive him as I wished to do. 

When I had satisfied both him and myself upon this subject, I 


EVELINA. 


857 


turned to Lord Orville, and saw, with concern, the gravity of his 
countenance. I would have spoken to him, but knew not how : 

I believe, however, he read my thoughts : for in a little time, 
with a sort of serious smile, be said, “ Does not Mr. Macartney 
complain of his disappointment ?” 

“ Not. much, my lord.” 

“ And how have you appeased him ?” — Finding I hesitated . 
what to answer, “ Am I not your brother ?” continued he, “ and 
must I not enquire into your affairs ?” 

“ Certainly, my lord,” said I, laughing, “ I only wish it were 
better worth your lordship’s while.” 

“ Let me, then, make immediate use of my privilege. When 
shall you see Mr. Macartney again ?” 

“ Indeed, my lord, I can’t tell.” 

“ But, — do you know that I shall not suffer my sister to make 
a private appointment?” 

Pray my lord,” cried I, earnestly, “ use that word no more ! 
Indeed you shock ;iie extremely.” 

“ That would I not do for the world,” cried he ; “ yet you 
know not how warmly, how deeply I am interested, not only in 
all your concerns, but in all your actions.” 

This speech, the most particular one Lord Orville had ever 
made to me, ended our conversation at that time ; for I was too 
much struck by it to make any answer. 

Soon after Mr. Macartney, in a low voice, entreated me not to 
deny him the gratification of returning the money. While he 
was speaking, the young lady I saw yesterday at the assembly, 
with the large party, entered the pump-room. Mr. Macartney 
turned as pale as death, his voice faltered, and he seemed not to 
know what he said. I was myself almost equally disturbed by 
the crowd of confused ideas that occurred to me. Good Heaven ! 
thought I, why should he be thus agitated ?”— is it possible this 
can be the young lady he loved ? 

In a few minutes we quitted the pump-room ; and though I 
twice wished Mr. Macartney good morning, he was so absent ho 
did not hear me. 


358 


EVELINA. 


We did not immediately return to Clifton, as Mrs. Selwyn had 
business at a pamphlet shop. While she was looking at some 
new poems, Lord Orville again asked me when I should see Mr. 
Macartney. 

“ Indeed, my lord,” cried I, “ I know not, but I would give the 
universe for a few moments’ conversation with him !” I spoke 
this with a simple sincerity, and was not aware of the force of 
my own words. 

“ The universe !” repeated he ; “ Good God, Miss Anville, do 
you say this to me ?” 

“ I would say it,” returned I, “ to anybody, my lord.” 

“ I beg your pardon,” said he, in a voice that showed him ill 
pleased, “ I am answered !” 

“My lord,” cried I, “you must not judge hardly of me. I 
spoke inadvertently ; but if you knew the painful suspense I suffer 
at this moment, you would not be surprised at what I have said.” 

“ And would a meeting with Mr. Macartney relieve you from 
that suspense ?” 

“ Yes, my lord ; two words might be sufficient.” 

“ Would to Heaven,” cried he, after a short pause, “ that I 
were worthy to know their import !” 

“ Worthy, ray lord ! — 0, if that were all, your lordship could 
ask nothing I should not be ready to answer ! If I were but at 
liberty to speak, I should be proud of your lordship’s inquiries ; 
but, indeed, I am not — I have not any right to communicate the 
affairs of Mr. Macartney ; — your lordship cannot suppose I 
have.” 

“ I will own to you,” answered he, “ I know not what to sup- 
pose : yet there seems a frankness even in your mystery — and 
such an air of openness in your countenance, that I am willing 

to hope He stopped a moment, and then added, “ This 

meeting, you say, is essential to your repose ?” 

“ I did not say that, my lord ; but yet I have the most im- 
portant reasons for wishing to speak to him.” 

He paused a few minutes; and then said with warmth, “Yes, 
you ^hall speak to him — I will myself assist you ! — Miss Anville, 


EVELINA. 


359 


T am sure, canuot form a 'wish against propriety : I will ask no 
questions, I will rely upon her own purity, and uninformed, 
blindfold as I am, I will serve her with all my power !” And 
then he went into the shop, leaving me so strangely affected by 
his generous behaviour, that I almost wished to follow him with 
my thanks. 

When Mrs. Selwyn had transacted her affairs, we returned 
home. 

The moment dinner w'as over. Lord Orville went out, and did 
not come back till just as we were summoned to supper. This 
is the longest time he has spent from the house since I have 
been at Clifton : and you cannot imagine, my dear- sir, how 
much I missed him ; I scarce knew before how infinitely I am 
indebted to him alone for the happiness I have enjoyed since I 
have been at Mrs. Beaumont’s. 

As I generally go down^stairs last, he came to me the 
moment the ladies had passed by, and said, “Shall you be at 
home to-morrow morning ?” 

“ I believe so, my lord.” 

“ And will you then receive a visiter for me ?” 

“For you, my lord ?” 

“Yes: — I have made acquaintance with Mr. Macartney, and 
he has promised to call upon me to-morrow about three o’clock.” 

And then, taking my hand, he led me down-stairs. 

O sir ? was there ever such another man as Lord Orville ? — 
Yes, one other now resides at Berry Hill ! 

This morning there has been a great deal of company here : 
but at the time appointed by Lord Orville, doubtless with that 
consideration, the parlour is almost always empty, as every- 
body is dressing. 

Mrs. Beaumont, however, was not gone up-stairs when Mr. 
Macartney sent in his name. 

Lord Orville immediately said, “Beg the favour of him to 
walk in. You see, madam, that I consider myself as at home.” 

“ I hope so,” answered Mrs. Beaumont, “ or I should be very 
uneasy.” 


360 


EVELINA. 


Mr. Macartney then entered. I believe we both felt very con- 
scious to whom the visit was paid : but Lord Orville received 
him as his own guest ; and not merely entertained him as such 
while Mrs. Beaumont remained in the room, but for some time 
after she had left it : a delicacy that saved me from the embar- 
rassment I should have felt had he immediately quitted us. 

In a few minutes, however, he gave Mr. Macartney a book, — 
for I, too, by way of pretence for continuing in the room, pre- 
tended to be reading, — and begged he would be so good as to 
look it over while he answered a note, which he would despatch 
in a few minutes, and return to him. 

When he was gone, we both parted with our books ; and Mr. 
Macartney, again producing the paper with the money, besought 
me to accept it. 

“ Pray,” said T, still declining it, “ did you know the young 
lady who came into the pump-room yesterday morning ?” 

“Know her !” repeated he, changing colour; “0 but too well!” 

“ Indeed 1” 

“ Why, madam, do you ask ?” 

“ I must beseech you to satisfy me further upon this subject ; 
pray tell me who she is.” 

“ Inviolably as I meant to keep my secret, I can refuse you, 
madam, nothing ; — that lady — is the daughter of Sir John Bel- 
mont ! — of my father !” 

“ Gracious Heaven 1” cried I, involuntarily laying my hand on 
his arm, “ you are then ” — my brother^ I would have said, but 
my voice failed me, and I burst into tears. 

“ 0, madam,” cried he, “ what does this mean ? — what can 
thus distress you?” 

I could not answer, but held out my hand to him. He seemed 
greatly surprised, and talked in high terms of my condescension. 

“ Spare yourself,” cried I, wiping my eyes, “ spare yourself this 
mistake, — you have a right to all I can do for you ; the similarity 
of our circumstances ” 

We were then interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Selwyn ; 
and Mr. Macartney, finding no probability of our being left alone, 


EVELINA. 


361 


was obliged to take leave, though, I believe, very reluctantly, 
while in such suspense. 

Mrs. Selwyn, then, by dint of interrogatories, drew from me 
the state of this affair. She is so penetrating, that there is no 
possibility of evading to give her satisfaction. 

Is not this a strange event ? Good Heaven ! how little did I 
think that the visits I so’ unwillingly paid at Mr. Brangh ton’s 
would have introduced me to so near a relation ! I will never 
again regret the time I spent in town this summer : a circum- 
stance so fortunate will always make me think of it with plea- 
sure. 

****** 

I have just received your letter, — and it has almost broken 
my heart ! — 0 sir ! the illusion is over, indeed ! how vainly have 
I flattered, how miserably deceived myself! Long since, doubt- 
ful of the situation of my heart, I dreaded the scrutiny ; but 
now, now that I have so long escaped, I began, indeed, to think 
my safety ensured, to hope that my fears were causeless, and to 
believe that my good opinion and esteem of Lord Orville might 
be owned without suspicion, and felt without danger ; — miser- 
ably deceived, indeed ! His sight is hamful to my repose : — his 
society is death to my future tranquillity ! 0, Lord Orville ! 

could I have believed that a friendship so grateful to my heart, 
so soothing to my distresses, — a friendship which, in every 
respect did me so much honour, would only serve to imbitter all 
my future moments ! — What a strange, what an unhappy circum- 
stance, that my gratitude, though so justly excited, should be so 
fatal to my peace ! 

Yes, sir, I will quit him ; — would to Heaven I could at this 
moment 1 without seeing him again, — without trusting to my now 
conscious emotion I — 0, Lord Orville, how little do you know the 
evils I owe to you ! how little suppose that, when most dignified 
by your attention, I was most to be pitied, — and when most 
exalted by your notice you were most my enemy 1 

You, sir, relied upon my ignorance ; T, alas, upon your experi- 
ence ; and whenever T doubted the weakness of my heart, the 

16 


3G2 


EVELINA. 


idea that you did not suspect it reassured me, restored my cour- 
age, and confirmed my error ! Yet am I most sensible of the 
kindness of your silence. 

0 vsir! wliy have I ever quitted you ! why been exposed to dan- 
gers to which I am so unequal ! 

But I will leave this place, leave Lord Orville, — leave him, per- 
haps, for ever ! No matter ; your counsel, your goodness may 
teach me how to recover the peace and the serenity of which my 
unguarded folly has beguiled me. To you alone do I trust, — in 
you alone confide for every future hope I may form. 

The more I consider the parting with Lord Orville, the less 
fortitude do I feel to bear the separation ; the friendship he 
has sh^^vvn me, — his politeness, — his sweetness of manners — his 
concern in my aflfairs, — his solicitude to oblige me, — all, all to 
be given up ! 

No, I cannot tell him I am going, — T dare not trust myself to 
take leave of him — I will run away without seeing him ; — impli- 
citly will I follow your advice, avoid his sight, and shun his 
society ! 

To-morrow morning I will set oflf for Berry Hill. Mrs. Selwyn 
and Mrs. Beaumont shall alone know my intention. And to-day 
I will spend in my own room. The readiness of my obedience 
is the only atonement I can offer for the weakness which calls for 
its exertion. 

Can you, will you, most honoured, most dear sir ! sole prop by 
which the poor Evelina is supported, — can you without reproach, 
without displeasure, receive the child you have so carefully reared, 
— from whose education better fruit might have been expected, 
and who blushing for her unworthiness, fears to meet the eye by 
which she has been cherished ? — 0 yes, I am sure you will. Your 
Evelina’s errors are those of the judgment ; and you, I well 
know, pardon all but those of the heart ! 


EVELINA. 


363 


LETTER LXXII. 
Evelina in continuation. 


Clifton, October 1. 

I HAVE only time, my dearest sir, for three words, to overtake 
my last letter, and prevent your expecting me immediately ; for, 
when I communicated my intention to Mrs. Selwyn, she would not 
hear of it, and declared it would be highly ridiculous for me to 
go before I received an answer to my intelligence concerning the 
journey from Paris. She has, therefore, insisted upon my wait- 
ing till your next letter arrives. I hope you will not be dis- 
pleased at my compliance, though it is rather against my own 
judgment : but Mrs. Selwyn quite overpowered me with the force 
of her arguments. I will, however, see very little of Lord Orville ; 
I will never come down-stairs before breakfast; give up all my 
walks in the garden ; seat myself next to Mrs. Selwyn ; and not 
merely avoid his conversation, but shun his presence. I will 
exert all the prudence and all the resolution in my power to pre- 
vent this short delay from giving you any further uneasiness. 

Adieu, my dearest sir. I shall not now leave Clifton till I have 
your directions. 


LETTER LXXIII. 
Evelina in continuation. 


October 2. 

Yesterday, from the time I received your kind though heart- 
piercing letter, I kept my room, — for I was equally unable and 
unwilling to see Lord Orville; but this morning, finding I 
seemed destined to pass a few days longer here, I endeavoured 
to calm my spirits, and to appear as usual ; though I determined 
to avoid him to the utmost of my power. Indeed, as I entered 
the parlour, when called to breakfast, my thoughts were so much 


364 


EVELINA. 


occupied with your letter, that I felt as much confusion at 
his sight as if he had himself been informed of its contents. 

Mrs. Beaumont made me a slight compliment upon my 
recovery, for I had pleaded illness to excuse keeping my room : 
Lady Louisa spoke not a word ; but Lord Orville, little imagin- 
ing himself the cause of my indisposition, inq^uired concerning 
my health with the most distinguishihg politeness. I hardly 
made any answer ; and for the first time since I have been here, 
contrived to sit at some distance from him. 

I could not help observing that my reserve surprised him ; 
yet he persisted in his civilities, and seemed to wish to remove it. 
But I paid him very little attention ; and the moment breakfast 
was over, instead of taking a book, or walking in the garden, I 
retired to my room. 

Soon after, Mrs. Selwyn came to tell me that Lord Orville had 
been proposing I should take an airing, and persuading her to 
let him drive us both in his phaeton. She delivered the message 
with an archness that made me blush ; and added, that an airing 
in my Lord Orville's carriage could not fail to revive my spirits. 
There is no possibility of escaping her discernment ; she has fre- 
quently rallied me upon his lordship’s attention, — and, alas! 
upon the pleasure with which I have received it 1 However, I 
absolutely refused the ofier. 

“ Well,” said she, laughing, “ I cannot just now indulge you 
with any solicitation ; for, to tell you the truth, I have business 
to transact at the Wells, and am glad to be excused myself. I 
would ask you to walk with me, but since Lord Orville is refused, 
I have not the presumption to hope for success.” 

“ Indeed,” cried I, “ you are mistaken ; I will attend you with 
pleasure.” 

‘‘ 0, rare coquetry !” cried she ; “ surely it must be inherent 
in our sex, for it could not have been imbibed at Berry Hill.” 

I had not spirit to answer her, and therefore put on niy hat 
and. cloak. in silence. 

“I presume,” continued she, dryly, “his lordship may walk 
with us.” 


EVELINA. 


865 


“ If SO, madam,” said I, “ you will have a companion, and I 
will stay at home.” 

“ My dear child,” cried she, “ did you bring the certificate of 
your birth with you ?” 

“ Dear madam, no !” 

“ Why, then, we shall never be known again at Berry Hill.” 

I felt too conscious to enjoy her pleasantry : but I believe she 
was determined to torment me, for she asked if she should 
inform Lord Orville that I desired him not to be of the party. 

“ By no means, madam ; but, indeed, I had rather not walk 
myself.” 

“ My dear,” cried she, “ I really do not know you this morn- 
ing, — you have certainly been taking a lesson of Lady Louisa.” 

She then went down-stairs ; but presently returning, told me 
she had acquainted Lord Orville that I did not choose to go out 
in the phaeton, but preferred a walk, iUe-a-tUe with her, by way 
of variety. 

I said nothing, but was really vexed. She bade me go down- 
stairs, and said she would follow me immediately. 

Lord Orville met me in the hall. “ I fear,” said he, “ Miss 
Anville is not yet quite well?” and he would have taken my 
hand, but I turned from him, and, courtesying slightly, went 
into the parlour. 

Mrs. Beaumont and Lady Louisa were at work ; Lord Merton 
was talking with the latter ; for he has now made his peace, and 
is again i-eceived into favour. 

I seated myself, as usual, by the window. Lord Orville, in a 
few minutes, came to me, and said, “ Why is Miss Anville so 
grave ?” 

“ Not grave, my lord,” said I, “ only stupid ;” and I took up a 
book. 

“You will go,” said he, after a short pause, “to the assembly 
to-night ?” 

“ No, my lord, certainly not.” 

“ Neither then will I ; for I should be sorry to sully the re- 
membrance I have of the happiness I enjoyed at the last.” 


366 


EVELINA. 


Mrs. Selwyn then coming in, general inquiries were made to 
all but me of who would go to the assembly. Lord Orville 
instantly declared he had letters to write at home ; but every 
one else settled to go. 

I then hastened Mrs. Selwyn away, though not before she had 
said to Lord Orville, “ Pray, has youf lordship obtained Miss 
Anville’s leave to favour us with your company.” 

“I have not, madam,” answered he, “had the vanity to 
ask it.” 

During our walk, Mrs. Selwyn tormented me unmercifully. 
She told me, that since I declined any addition to our party, I 
must, doubtless, be conscdous of my own powers of entertain- 
ment ; and begged me therefore to exert them freely. I repent- 
ed a thousand times having consented to walk alone with her : 
for though I made the most painful efforts to appear in spirits, 
her raillery quite overpowered me. 

We went first to the pump-room. It was full of company; 
and the moment we entered, I heard a murmuring of that's she! 
and to my great confusion, I saw every eye turned towards me. 
I pulled my hat over my face, and by the assistance of Mrs. Sel- 
wyn, endeavoured to screen myself from observation : neverthe- 
less, I found I was so much the object of general attention, that 
I entreated her to hasten away. But, unfortunately, she had 
entered into conversation, very earnestly, with a gentleman of 
her acquaintance, and would not listen to me ; but said, that if I 
was tired of waiting, I might walk on to the milliner’s with the 
Misses Watkins, two young ladies I had seen at Mrs. Beaumont’s, 
who were going thither. 

I accepted the oflfer very readily, and away we went. 

But we had not gone three yards before we were followed by 
a party of young men,- who took every possible opportunity of 
looking at us, and, as they walked behind, talked aloud, in a 
manner at once unintelligible and absurd. “ Yes,” cried one, 
“ ’tis certainly she ! mark but her blushing cheek !" 

“ And then her eye — her down-cast eye !" cried another. 

“ True, 0 most true,” said a third ; every beauty is her own." 


EVELINA. 


367 


“ But then,” said the fii-st, “ her mind, now the difficulty is to 
find out the truth of that, for she will not say a word.” 

“ She is timid" answered another ; “ mark but her timid airP 

During this conversation we walked on silent and quick ; as 
WQ knew not to whom it was particularly addressed, we were all 
equally ashamed, and equally desirous to avoid such unaccounta- 
ble observations. 

Soon after we were caught in a shower of rain. We hurried 
on ; and these gentlemen, following us, offered their services in 
the most pressing manner, begging us to make use of their arms; 
and while I almost ran, in order to avoid their impertinence, I 
was suddenly met by Sir Clement Willoughby ! 

We both started: “Good God!” he exclaimed, “Miss An- 
vil le !” and then regarding my tormentors with an air of dis- 
pleasure, he earnestly^inquired if any thing had alarmed me ? 

“No, no,” cried I; for I found no difficulty now to disengage 
myself from these youths, who, probably, concluding from the 
commanding air of Sii\Cleraent that he had a right to protect 
me, quietly gave way to him, and entirely quitted us. 

With his usual impetuosity he then began a thousand in- 
quiries, accompanied with as many compliments ; and he told 
me that he arrived at Bristol but this morning, which he had 
entirely devoted to endeavours to discover where I lodged. 

“ Did you know, then,” said I, “ that I was at Bristol ?” 

“ Would to Heaven,” cried he, “ that I could remain in ignor- 
ance of your proceedings with the same contentment you do of 
mine ! then should I not for ever journey upon the wing-s of hope 
to meet my own despair! You cannot even judge of the cruelty 
of my fate ; for the ease and serenity of your mind incapacitate 
you from feeling for the agitation of mine !” 

The ease and serenity of my mind ! alas, how little do I merit 
those words ! 

“ But,” added he, “ had accident brought me hither, had I not 
known of your journey, the voice of fame would have proclaimed 
it to me instantly upon my arrival.” 

“ The voice of fame !” repeated I. 


368 


EVELINA. 


“Yes, for yours was the first name I heard at the pump-room. 
But had I not heard your name, such a description could have 
painted no one else.’’ 

“ Indeed,” said I, “ I do not understand you but just then 
arriving at the milliner’s, our conversation ended ; for Miss Wat- 
kins called me to look at caps and ribands. 

Sir Clement however has the art of being always at home ; 
he was very soon engaged, as busily as ourselves, in looking at 
lace ruffles ; yet he took an opportunity of saying to me in a low 
voice, “ How charmed I am to see you look so well ! I was told 
you were ill ; but I never saw you in better health, never more 
infinitely lovely !” 

I turned away to examine the ribands, and soon after Mrs. 
Selwyn made her appearance. I found that she was acquainted 
with Sir Clement, and her manner of speaking to him convinced 
me that he was a favourite with her. 

When their mutual compliments were over, she turned to me, 
and said, “ Pray, Miss Anville, how long can you live without 
nourishment ?” 

“ Indeed, ma’am,” said I, laughing, “ I have never tried.” 

“ Because so long, and no longer,” answered she, “ you may 
remain at Bristol.” 

“ Why, what is the matter ma’am ?” 

“ The matter ! why, all the ladies are at open war with you ; 
the whole pump-room is in confusion ; and you, innocent as you 
pretend to look, are the cause. However, if you take my advice, 
you will be very careful how you eat and drink during your 
stay.” 

I begged her to explain herself ; and she then told me that a 
copy of verses had been dropped in the pump-room, and read 
there aloud : “ The beauties of the Wells,” said she, “ are all 
mentioned, but you are the Venus to whom the prize is 
given.” 

“ Is it then possible,” cried Sir Clement, “ that you have not 
seen these verses ?” 

“I hardly know,” answered I, “ whether any body has.” 


EVELINA. 


369 


“ I assure you,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “ if you give me the inven- 
tion of them you do me an honour I by no means deserve.” 

“ I wrote down in my tablets,” said Sir Clement, “ the stanzas 
which concern Miss Anville this morning at the pump-room ; and 
I will do myself the honour of copying them for her this even- 
ing.” 

“ But why the part that concerns Miss Anville .^” said Mrs. 
Selwyn : “ did you ever see her before this morning ?” 

“ 0 yes,” answered he, “ I have had that happiness frequently 
at Captain Mirvan’s. Too, too frequently !” added he, in a low 
voice, as Mrs, Selwyn turned to the milliner ; and as soon as she 
was occupied in examining some trimmings, he came to me, and 
almost whether I would or not, entered into conversation with 
me. 

“ I have a thousand things ” cried he, “ to say to you. Pray 
where are you ?” 

“ With Mrs. Selwyn, sir.” 

“ Indeed ! then for once chance is my friend. And how long 
have you been here ?” 

“ About three weeks.” 

“ Good Heaven ! what an anxious search have I had to disco- 
ver your abode since you so suddenly left town ! The termagant 
Madame Duval refused me all intelligence. O Miss Anville, did 
you know what I have endured ! the sleepless, restless state of 
suspense I have been tortured with, you could not, all cruel as 
you are, you could not have received me with such frigid indif- 
ference !” 

“ Received you sir !” 

“ Why, is not my visit to you ? Do you think I should 
have made this journey but for the happiness of again seeing you *” 

“ Indeed, it is possible I might, since so many others do.” 

“ Cruel, cruel girl ! you know that I adore you ! you know yo\x 
are the mistress of my soul, and arbitress of my fate !” 

Mrs. Selwyn then advancing to us, he assumed a more disen- 
gaged air, and asked if he should not have the pleasure of seeing 
her in the evening at the assembly ? 

• 16 * 


370 


EVELINA. 


“ 0 yes,” cried she, “ we shall certainly be there, so you may 
bring the verses with you, if Miss Anville can wait for them so 
long.” 

“ I hope then,” returned he, “ that you will do me the honour 
to dance with me ?” 

I thanked him, but said I should not be at the assembly. 

“ Not be at the assembly !” cried Mrs. Selwyn : “ why, have 
you^ too, letters to write ?” 

She looked at me with a significant archness that made me 
colour; and I hastily answered, “ No, indeed, ma’am !” 

“ You have not !” cried she, yet more dryly ; “ then pray, my 
dear, do you stay at home to help or to hinder others ?” 

“ To do neither, ma’am,” answered I, in much confusion ; “ so 
if you please, I will not stay at home.” 

“ You will allow me, then,” said Sir Clement, “ to hope for the 
honour of your hand ?” 

I only bowed ; for the dread of Mrs. Selwyn’s raillery made me 
not dare refuse him. 

Soon after this we walked home : Sir Clement accompanied 
us ; and the conversation that passed between Mrs. Selwyn and 
him was supported in so lively a manner, that I should have been 
much entertained had my mind been more at ease ; but, alas ! I 
could think of nothing but the capricious, the unmeaning appear- 
ance which the alteration in my conduct must make in the eyes 
of Lord Orville. And much as I wish to avoid him, greatly as I 
desire to save myself from having my weakness known to him, 
yet I cannot endure to incur his ill-opinion ; and unacquainted 
as he is with the reasons by which I am actuated, how can he 
fail contemning a change to him so unaccountable ? 

As we entered the garden, he was the first object we saw. He 
advanced to meet us; and I could not help observing, that 
at sight of each other both he and Sir Clement changed colour. 

We went into the parlour, where we found the same party we 
had left. Mrs Selwyn presented Sir Clement to Mrs. Beaumont ; 
Lady Louisa and Lord Merton he seemed well acquainted with 
already. 


EVELINA. 


sn 


The conversation was upon the general subjects of the weather, 
the company at the Wells, and the news of the day. But Sir 
Clement, drawing his chair next to mine, took every opportu- 
nity of addressing himself to me in particular. 

I could not but remark the striking difference of his attention, 
and that of Lord Orville : the latter has such gentleness of man- 
ners, such delicacy of conduct, and an air so respectful, that, 
when he flatters most, he never distresses ; and when he most 
confers honour, appears to receive it ! The former obtrudes his 
attention, and forces mine ; it is so pointed, that it always con- 
fuses me, and so public, that it attracts general notice. Indeed 
I have sometimes thought that he would rather wish, than dis- 
like, to have his partiality for me known, as he takes great care 
to prevent my being spoken to by any but himself. 

When at length he went away. Lord Orville took his seat, 
and said with a half-smile, “ Shall I call Sir Clement, or will you 
call me a usurper for taking this place ? — You make me no 
answer ? — Must I then suppose that Sir Clement ” 

“ It is little worth your lordship’s while,” said I, “ to suppose 
any thing upon so insignificant an occasion.” 

“ Pardon me,” cried he, “ to me nothing is insignificant in 
which you are concerned.” 

To this I made no answer; neither did he say any thing more 
till the ladies retired to dress : and then, when I would have fol- 
lowed them, he stopped me, saying, “ One moment, I entreat 
you !” 

I turned back and he went on, — “ I greatly fear that I have 
been so unfortunate as to offend you ; yet so repugnant to my 
very soul is the idea, that I know not how to suppose it possible 
I can unwittingly have done the thing in the world that, design- 
edly, I would wish to avoid.” 

“ No, indeed, my lord, you have not,” said 1. 

“ You sigh !” cried he, taking my hand ; “ would to Heaven I 
were the sharer of your uneasiness, whencesoever it springs I 
with what earnestness would I not struggle to alleviate it ! — Tell 
me, my dear Miss Anville, — my new-adopted sister, my sweet 


372 


EVELINA. 


and most amiable friend ! — tell me, I beseech you, if I can aiford 
you any assistance ?” 

“ None, none, my lord,” cried I, withdrawing my hand, and 
moving towards the door. 

“ Is it then impossible I can serve you ? — Perhaps you wish to 
see Mr. Macartney again ?” 

“ No, my lord.” And I held the door open. 

“ I am not, I own, sorry for that. Yet, oh ! Miss Anville, there 
is a question, — there is a conjecture, I know not how to mention, 
because I dread the result ! — But I see you are in haste ; perhaps 
in the evening I may have the honour of a longer conversation. 
Yet one thing will you have the goodness to allow me to ask? 
Did you, this morning, when you went to the Wells, — did you 
Tcno'Ub whom you should meet there ?” 

“ Who, my lord ?” 

“ I beg your pardon a thousand times for a curiosity so unli- 
censed ; — but I will say no more at present.” 

He bowed, expecting me to go ; — and then, with quick steps, 
but a heavy heart, I came to my own room. His question, I 
am sure, meant Sir Clement Willoughby ; and had I not imposed 
upon myself the severe task of avoiding, flying Lord Orville with 
all my power, I would instantly have satisfied him of my igno- 
rance of Sir Clement’s journey. And yet more did I long to say 
something of the assembly, since I found he depended upon my 
spending the evening at home. 

I did not go down-stairs again till the family was assembled to 
<1 inner. My dress, I saw, struck Lord Orville with astonishment • 
and I was myself so much ashamed of appearing whimsical and 
unsteady, that I could not look up. 

“ I understood,” said Mrs. Beaumont, “ that Miss Anville did 
not go out this evening.” 

“Her intention in the morning,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “was to 
stay at home ; but there is a fascinating power in an assembly^ 
which upon second thoughts is not to be resisted.” 

“ The assembly 1” cried Lord Orville ; “ are you, then, going to 
the assembly ?” 


EVELINA. 


378 


I made no answer ; and we all took our places at table. 

It was not without difficulty that I contrived to give up my 
usual seat ; but I was determined to adhere to the promise in my 
yesterday’s letter, though I saw that Lord Orville seemed quite 
confounded at my visible endeavours to avoid him. 

After dinner, we all went into the drawing-room together, as 
there were no gentleman to detain his lordship ; and then, before 
I could place myself out of his way, he said, “ You are then really 
going to the assembly ? May I ask if you shall dance ?” 

“ I believe not, my lord.” 

“ If I did not fear,” continued he, “ that you would be tired of 
the same partner at two following assemblies, I would give up my 
letter-writing till to-morrow evening, and solicit the honour of 
your hand.” 

“ If I do dance,” said I, in a great confusion, “ I believe I am 
engaged.” 

“ Engaged !” cried he, with earnestness — “ May I ask to 
whom ?” 

“ To — Sir Clement Willoughby, my lord.” 

He said nothing, but looked very little pleased and did not 
address himself to me any more all the afternoon. 0 sir ! — 
thus situated, how comfortless were the feelings of your Evelina ! 

Early in the evening, with his accustomed assiduity. Sir Cle- 
ment came to conduct us to the assembly. He soon contrived to 
seat himself next me, and in a low voice, paid me so many com- 
pliments, that I knew not which way to look. 

Lord Orville hardly spoke a word, and his countenance was 
grave and thoughtful ; yet, whenever I raised my eyes, his, I per- 
ceived, were directed towards me, though instantly upon meeting 
mine, he looked another way. 

In a short time. Sir Clement, taking from his pocket a folded 
paper, said, almost in a whisper, “ Here, loveliest of women, you 
will see a faint, an unsuccessful attempt to paint the object of all 
my adoration ! yet, weak as are the lines for the purpose, I envy 
beyond expression the happy mortal who has dared make the 
effort.” 


874 


EVELINA. 


“ I will look at them,” said I, “ some other time.” For con- 
scious that I was observed byLord Orville, I could not bear he 
should see me take a written paper, so privately oftered, from Sir 
Clement. But Sir Clement is an impracticable man, and I never 
succeeded in any attempt to frustrate whatever he had planned. 

“No,” said he, still in a whisper, “you must take them now? 
while Lady Louisa is away” (for she and Mrs. Selwyn were gone 
up-stairs to finish their dress), “ as she must by no means see 
them.” 

“Indeed,” said I, “I have no intention to show them.” 

“ But the only w^ay,” answered he, “ to avoid suspicion is to 
take them in her absence. I would have read them .aloud my- 
self, but that they are not proper to be seen by anybody in this 
house, yourself and Mrs. Selwyn excepted.” 

Then again he presented me the paper, which I now was 
obliged to take, as I found declining it was in vain. But I was 
sorry that this action should be seen, and the whispering remark- 
ed, though the purport of the conversation was left to conjec- 
ture. 

As I held it in my hand, Sir Clement teased me to look at it 
immediately ; and told me, the reason he could not produce the 
lines publicly was, that among the ladies who were mentioned, 
and supposed to be rejected, was Lady Louisa Larpent. I am 
much concerned at this circumstance, as I cannot doubt but that 
it will render me more disagreeable to her than ever if she 
should hear of it. 

I will now copy the verses which Sir Clement would not let 
me rest till I had read. 

See last advance with bashful grace, 

Downcast eye, and blushing cheek, 

Timid air, and beauteous face, 

Anville, — whom the Graces seek. 

Though ev’ry beauty is her own. 

And though her mind each virtue fills, 

Anville, — to her power unknown, — 

Artless strikes, unconscious kills. 

I am sure, my dear sir, you will not wonder that a panegyric 


EVELINA. 


375 


sucli as tliis should, in reading, give me the greatest confusion ; 
and unfortunately, before I had finished it the ladies returned. 

“ What have you there, my dear ?” said Mrs. Selwyn, 

“Nothing, ma’am,” said I, hastily folding and putting it in my 
pocket. 

“ And has nothing^'' cried she, “ the power of rouge P 

T made no answer: a deep sigh, which escaped Lord Orville at 
that moment, reached my ears, and gave me sensations which I 
dare not mention ! 

Lord Merton then handed Lady Louisa and Mrs. Beaumont to 
the latter’s carriage. Mrs. Selwyn led the way to Sir Clement’s^ 
who handed me in after her. 

During the ride I did not once speak ; but when I came to the 
assembly-room. Sir Clement took care that I should not preserve 
my silence. He asked me immediately to dance ; I begged him 
to excuse me, and seek some other partner. But, on the con- 
trary, he told me he was very glad I would sit still, as he had a 
million of things to say to me. 

He then began to tell me how much he had suffered from 
absence ; how greatly he was alarmed when he heard I had left 
town ; and how cruelly difficult he had found it to trace me ; 
which at last he could only do by sacrificing another week to 
Captain Mirvan. 

‘ “ And Howard Grove,” continued he, “ which, at my first visit, 
I thought the most delightful spot upon earth, now appeared to 
me the most dismal ; the face of the country seemed altered ; 
the walks, which I had thought most pleasant, were now most 
stupid ; Lady Howard, who had appeared a cheerful and respec- 
table old lady, now appeared in the common John Trot style of 
other aged dames ; Mrs. Mirvan, whom I had esteemed as an 
amiable piece of still life, now became so insipid that I could 
hardly keep awake in her company ; the daughter, too, whom I 
had regarded as a good-humoured, pretty sort of a girl, now 
seemed too insignificant for notice ; and as to the captain, I had 
always thought him a booby, but now he appeared a savage !” 

“ Indeed, Sir Clement,” cried I, angrily, “ I will not hear you 
speak thus of my best friends.” 


376 


EVELINA. 


“ I beg your pardon,” said he ; “ but the contrast of my two 
visits was too striking not to be mentioned.” 

He then asked what I thought of the verses. 

“ Either,” said I, “ they are written ironically, or by some mad- 
man,” 

Such a profusion of compliments ensued, that I was obliged to 
propose dancing in my own defence. “ When we stood up, I 
intended,” said he, “ to have discovered the author by his looks ; 
but I find you so much the general loadstone of attention, that 
my suspicious change their object every moment. Surely you 
must yourself have some knowledge who he is ?” 

I told him no. Yet, my dear sir, I must own to you I have no 
doubt but that Mr. Macartney must be the author ; no one else 
would speak of me so partially ; and indeed, his poetical turn 
puts it, with me, beyond dispute. 

He asked me a thousand questions concerning Lord Orville ; 
how long he had been at Bristol ? — what time I had spent at Clif- 
ton ? — whether he rode out every morning ? — whether 1 ever 
trusted myself in a phaeton ? — and a multitude of other inquiries, 
all tending to discover if I was honoured with much of his lord- 
ship’s attention, and all made with his usual freedom and impe- 
tuosity. 

Fortunately, as I much wished to retire early. Lady Louisa 
makes a point of being the first who quits the rooms, and there- 
fore we got home in very tolerable time. 

Lord Orville’s reception of us was grave and cold ; far from dis- 
tinguishing me, as usual, by particular civilities. Lady Louisa her- 
self could not have seen me enter the room with more frigid 
unconcern, nor have more scrupulously avoided honouring me 
with any notice. But chiefly I was struck to see, that he suffered 
Sir Clement, who staid supper, to sit between us, without any 
effort to prevent him, though till then he had seemed to be even 
tenacious of a seat next mine. 

This little circumstance affected me more than I can express : 
yet I endeavoured to rejoice at it, since neglect and indifference 
from him may be my best friends. — But alas ! — so suddenly, so 


EVELINA. 


3.Y 

abruptly to forfeit bis attention ! to lose his friendship ! — 0 sir, 
these thoughts pierced my soul ! — scarce could I keep my seat ; 
for not all my efforts could restrain the tears from trickling down 
my cheeks ; however, as Lord Orville saw them not, for Sir 
Clement’s head was constantly between us, I tried to collect my 
spirits, and succeeded so far as to keep my place with decency 
till Sir Clement took leave ; and then, not daring to trust my 
eyes to meet those of Lord Orville, I retired. 

I have been writing ever since : for certain that I could not 
sleep, I would not go to bed. Tell me, my dearest sir, if you 
possibly can, tell me that you approve my change of conduct, — 
tell me that my altered behaviour to Lord Orville is right, — that 
my flying his society and avoiding his civilities are actions which 
you would have dictated. — Tell me this, and the sacrifices I have 
made will comfort me in the midst of my regret, — for never, 
never can I cease to regret that I have lost the friendship of Lord 
Orville ! — 0 sir, I have slighted, — have rejected,— have thrown 
it away ! — No matter, — it was an honour I merited not to pre- 
serve ; and now I see that my mind was unequal to sustaining it 
without danger. 

Yet so strong is the desire you have implanted in me to act 
with uprightness and propriety, that, however the weakness of 
my heart may distress and afflict me, it will never, I humbly 
trust, render me wilfully culpable. The wish of doing well gov- 
erns every other, as far as concerns my conduct, — for am I not 
your child ! — the creature of your own forming ! — Yet, O sir, 
friend, parent of my heart ! my feelings are all at war with my 
duties! and, while I must struggle to acquire self-approbation, my 
peace, my happiness, my hopes are lost ! 

’Tis you alone can compose a mind so cruelly agitated : you, I 
well know, can feel pity for the weakness to which you are a 
stranger ; and, though you blame the affliction, soothe and com- 
fort the afflicted. 


378 


EVELINA. 


LETTER LXXIV. 
Mr. Villars to Evelina. 


Berry Hill, Oct. 3. 

Your last communication, my dearest child, is indeed astonish- 
ing ; that an acknowledged daughter and heiress of Sir John 
Belmont should be at Bristol, and still my Evelina bear the name 
of Anville, is to me inexplicable : yet the mystery of the letter to 
Lady Howard prepared me to expect something extraordinary 
upon Sir John Belmont’s return to England. 

Whoever this young lady may be, it is certain she now takes 
a place to which you have a right indisputable. — An after mar- 
riage I never heard of ; yet, supposing such a one to have hap- 
pened, Miss Evelyn was certainly the first wife, and therefore her 
daughter must at least be entitled to the name of Belmont. 

Either there are circumstances in this affair at present utterly 
incomprehensible, or else some strange and most atrocious fraud 
has been practised ; which of these two is the case it now be- 
hoves us to enquire. 

My reluctance to this step gives way to my conviction of its 
propriety, since the reputation of your dear and much-injured 
mother must now either be fully cleared from blemish or receive 
its final and indelible wound. 

The public appearance of a daughter of Sir John Belmont will 
revive the remembrance of Miss Evelyn’s story in all who have 
heard it, — who the mother was will be universallly demanded, — 
and if any other Lady Belmont should be named, the birth of my 
Evelina will receive a stigma, against which, honour, truth, and 
innocence may appeal in vain ! — a stigma which will eternally 
blast the fair fame of her virtuous mother, and cast upon her 
blameless self the odium of a title, which not all her purity can 
rescue from established shame and dishonour. 

No, my dear child, no : I will not quietly suffer the ashes of 
your mother to be treated with ignominy ! her spotless character 


EVELINA. 


379 


shall be justified to the world — her marriage shall be acknow- 
ledged, and her child shall bear the name to which she is law- 
fully entitled. 

It is true that Mrs. Mirvan would conduct this affair with 
more delicacy than Mrs. Selwyn ; yet, perhaps, to save time is 
of all considerations the most important, since the longer this 
mystery is suffered to continue, the more difficult may be rend- 
ered its explanation. The sooner, therefore, you can set out for 
town, the less formidable will be your task. 

Let not your timidity, my dear love, depress your spirits : I 
shall, indeed, tremble for you at a meeting so singular and so 
affecting, yet there can be no doubt of the success of your appli- 
cation ; I enclose a letter from your unhappy mother, written 
and reserved purposely for this occasion ; Mrs. Clinton, too, who 
attended her in her last illness, must accompany you to town. — 
But, without any other certificate of your birth, that which you 
carry in your countenance, as it could not be effected by artifice, 
so it cannot admit of a doubt. 

And now, my Evelina, committed at length to the care of your 
real parent, receive the fervent prayers, wishes, and blessings of 
him who so fondly adopted you ! 

Mayst thou, 0 child of my bosom ! mayst thou, in this change 
of situation, experience no change of disposition ! but receive 
with humility, and support with meekness, the elevation to which 
thou art rising ! May thy manners, language, and deportment, 
all evince that modest equanimity and cheerful gratitude which 
not merely deserve but dignify prosperity ! Mayst thou, to the 
last moments of an unblemished life, retain thy genuine simpli- 
city, thy singleness of heart, thy guileless sincerity ! And mayst 
thou, stranger to ostentation, and superior to insolence, with 
true greatness of soul shine forth conspicuous only in beneficence! 

Arthur Villars. 


880 


EVELINA. 


LETTER LXXV. 

[Enclosed in the preceding letter.] 

Lady Belmont to Sir John Belmont. 

In the firm hope that the moment of anguish which approaches 
will prove the period of my sufiering, once more I address 
myself to Sir John Belmont, in behalf of the child who, if it sur- 
vives its mother, will hereafter be the bearer of this letter. 

Yet in what terms, 0 most cruel of men ! can the lost Caro- 
line address you, and not address you in vain ? 0, deaf to the 

voice of compassion — deaf to the sting of truth — deaf to every 
tie of honour — say, in what terms may the lost Caroline address 
you and not address you in vain ? 

Shall I call you by the loved, the respected title of husband ? 
— No you disclaim it ! — the father of my infant? — No, you doom 
it to infamy ! — the lover who rescued me from a forced marriage ? 
— No, you have yourself betrayed me! — the friend from whom 
I hoped succour and protection ? — No, you have consigned me to 
misery and destruction ! 

0, hardened against every plea of justice, remorse, or pity ! 
how and in what manner may I hope to move thee ? — Is there 
one method I have left untried ? remains there one resource un- 
essayed ? No ! I have exhausted all the bitterness of reproach, 
and drained every sluice of compassion ! 

Hopeless and almost desperate, twenty times have I flung 
away my pen ; but the feelings of a mother, a mother agonizing 
for the fate of her child, again animating my courage, as often I 
have resumed it. 

Perhaps when I am no more, when the measure of my woes is 
completed, and the still, silent, unreproaching dust has received 
my sad remains, — then, perhaps, when accusation is no longer to 
be feared, nor detection to be dreaded, the voice of equity and the 
cry of nature may be heard. 

Listen, O Belmont, to its dictates 1 reprobate not your child 


EVELINA. 


381 


though you have reprobated its mother. The evils that are past, 
perhaps, when too late, you may wish to recall : the young crea- 
ture you have persecuted, perhaps, when too late, you may regret 
that you have destroyed ; you may think with horror of the de- 
ceptions you have practised, and the pangs of remorse may fol- 
low me to the tomb : — 0 Belmont, all my resentment softens 
into pity at the thought ! what will become of thee, good 
Heaven, when, with the eye of penitence, thou reviewest thy past 
conduct. 

Hear, then, the solemn, the last address with which the un- 
happy Caroline will importune thee. 

If, when the time of thy contrition arrives, — for arrive it must ! 
— when the sense of thy treachery shall rob thee of almost every 
other, — if then thy tortured heart shall sigh to expiate thy guilt, 
— mark the conditions upon which I leave thee my forgiveness. 

Thou kuowest I am thy wife ! Bear then to the world the 
reputation thou hast sullied, and receive, as thy lawful successor, 
the child who will present thee this my dying request ! 

The worthiest, the most benevolent, the best of men, to whose 
consoling kindness I owe the little tranquillity I have been able 
to preserve, has plighted me his faith, that upon no other condi- 
tions he will part with his helpless charge. 

Shouldst thou, in the features of this deserted innocent, trace 
the resemblance of the wretched Caroline, — should its face bear 
the marks of its birth, and revive in thy memory the image of 
its mother, wilt thou not, Belmont, wilt thou not therefore 
renounce it ? 0 babe of my fondest affection ! for whom already 

I experience all the tenderness of maternal pity ! look not like 
thy unfortunate mother, lest the parent whom the hand of death 
may spare shall be snatched from thee by the more cruel means 
of unnatural antipathy ! 

1 can write no more. The small share of serenity I have pain- 
fully acquired will will not bear the shock of the dreadful ideas 
that crowd upon me. 

Adieu, for ever ! 

Yet O ! shall I not, in this last farewell, which thou wilt not 


382 


EVELINA. 


read till every stormy passion is extinct, and the kind grave has 
embosomed all my sorrows, shall I not offer to the man once so 
dear to me a ray of consolation to those afflictions he has in 
reserve ? Sufier me, then, to tell thee that my pity far exceeds 
my indignation, — that I will pray for thee, in my last moments, 
and that the recollection of the love I once bore thee shall swal- 
low up every other ! 

Once more, adieu ! 

Caroline Belmont. 


LETTER LXXVI. 
Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 


Clifton, Oct. 8. 

This morning I saw from my window that Lord Orville was 
walking in the garden ; but I would not go down-stairs till 
breakfast was ready ; and then he paid me his compliments 
almost as coldly as Lady Louisa paid hers. 

I took my usual place, and Mrs. Beaumont, Lady Louisa, and 
Mrs. Selwyn entered into their usual conversation. Not so your 
Evelina ! disregarded, silent and melancholy, she .sat like a 
cipher, who to nobody belonging, by nobody w'as noticed. 

Ill brooking such a situation, and unable to support the 
neglect of Lord Orville, the moment breakfast was over I 
left the room and was going up-stairs, when, very unpleasantly 
I was stopped by Sir Clement Willoughby, who, flying into the 
hall, prevented my proceeding. 

He enquired very particularly after my health, and entreated 
me to return into the parlour. Unwillingly I consented, but 
thought any thing preferable to continuing alone with him ; 
and he w^ould neither leave me nor suffer me to pass on. Yet, 
in returning, I felt not a little ashamed at appearing thus to 
take the visit of Sir Clement to myself. And, indeed, he endea- 
voured, by his manner of addressing me, to give it that air. 

He staid, I believe an hour ; nor would he, perhaps, even then 


EVELINA. 


383 


have gone had not Mrs. Beaumont broken up the party by pro- 
posing an airing in her coach. Lady Louisa consented to accom- 
pany her ; but Mrs. Sehvyn when applied to said, “ If my lord 
or Sir Clement will join us, I shall be happy’ to make one ; — but 
really a trio of females will be nervous to the last degree.’’ 

Sir Clement readily agreed to attend them ; indeed, he makes 
it his evident study to court the favour of Mrs. Beaumont. Lord 
Orville excused himself from going out ; and I retired to my 
own room. What he did with himself I know not, for I would 
not go down-stairs till dinner was ready ; his coldness, though 
my own change of behaviour had occasioned it, so cruelly 
depresses my spirits that I know not how to support myself in 
his presence. 

At dinner, I found Sir Clement again of the party. Indeed 
he manages every thing his own way ; for Mrs. Beaumont, 
though by no means easy to please, seems quite at his disposal. 

The dinner, the afternoon, and the evening were to me the 
most irksome imaginable ; I was tormented by the assiduity of 
Sir Clement, who not only toolc, but made opportunities of 
speaking to me, — and I was hurt, — 0 how inexpressibly hurt ! — 
that Lord Orville not only forbore, as hitherto, seeking, he even 
neglected all occasions of talking with me ! 

I begin to think, my dear sir, that the sudden alteration in 
my behaviour was ill-judged and improper ; for as I had received 
no offence, as the cause of the change was upon my account, not 
his, I should not have assumed so abruptly a reserve for which I 
dared assign no reason, — nor have shunned his presence so 
obviously, without considering the strange appearance of such 
a conduct. 

Alas, my dearest sir, that my reflections should always be too 
late to serve me ! Dearly, indeed, do I purchase experience ! 
and much I fear I shall suffer yet more severely, from the heed- 
less indiscretion of my temper, ere I attain that prudence and 
consideration which, by foreseeing distant consequences, may 
rule and direct in present exigences. 


384 


EVELINA. 


Oct. 4. 

Yesterday morniog everybody rode out, except Mrs. Selwyn 
and myself; and we two sat for some time together in her room ; 
but as soon as I could, I quitted her to saunter in the garden ; 
for she diverts herself so unmercifully upon rallying me, either 
upon my gravity or concerning Lord Orville, that I dread having 
any conversation with her. 

Here, I believe, I spent an hour by myself ; when, hearing 
the garden-gate open, I went into an arbour at the end of a long 
walk, where, ruminating very unpleasantly upon my future pros- 
pects, I remained quietly seated but a few minutes before I was 
interrupted by the appearance of Sir Clement Willoughby. 

I started and would have left the arbour, but he prevented 
me. Indeed, I am almost certain he had heard in the house 
where T was, as it is not otherwise probable he would have 
strolled down the garden alone. 

“Stop, stop,” cried he, “loveliest and most beloved of women, 
stop and hear me !” 

Then making me keep my place, he sat down by me, and 
would have taken my hand ; but I drew it back and said I 
could not stay. 

“ Can you then,” cried he, “ refuse me the smallest gratifica- 
tion, though but yesterday I almost suffered martyrdom for the 
pleasure of seeing you 

“ Martyrdom, Sir Clement !” 

“ Yes, beauteous insensible ! martyrdom : for did I not compel 
myself to be immured in a carriage the tedious length of a whole 
morning, with the three most fatiguing women in England ?” 

“ Upon my word, the ladies are extremely obliged to you.” 

“ 0,” returned he, “ they have, every one of them, so copious 
a share of their own personal esteem, that they have no right to 
repine at the failure of it in the world ; and indeed thev will 
themselves be the last to discover it.” 

“ How little,” cried I, “ are those ladies aware of such severity 
from you P' 

“They are guarded,” answered he, “ so happily and so secure- 


EVELINA. 


385 


ly by their own conceit, that they are not aware of it from any 
body. O, Miss Anville, to be torn away from you in order to be 
shut up with them ^ — is there a human being, except your cruel 
self, could forbear to pity mo ?” 

“ I believe. Sir Clement, however hardly you may choose to 
judge of them, your situation, by the world in general, would 
rather have been envied than pitied.” 

“ The world in general,” answered he, “ has the same opinion 
of them that I have myself: Mrs. Beaumont is everywhere 
laughed at. Lady Louisa ridiculed, and Mrs. Selwyn hated.” 

“ Good God, Sir Clement, what cruel strength of words do you 
use !” 

“ It is you, my angel, are to blame, since your perfections 
have rendered their faults so glaring. I protest to you, during 
our whole ride, I thought the carriage drawn by snails. The 
absurd pride of Mrs. Beaumont, and the respect she exacts are at 
once insufferable and stupefying : had I never before been in her 
company, I should have concluded that this had been her first 
airing from the herald’s oflBce, — and wished her nothing worse 
than that it might also be the last. I assure you that but for 
gaining the freedom of her house, I would fly her as I would 
plague, pestilence, and famine. Mrs. Selwyn, indeed, afforded 
some relief from this formality, but the unbounded licence of her 
tongue 

“ O, Sir Clement, do you object to that ?” 

“Yes, my sweet reproacher, in a woman I do; in woman I 
think it intolerable. She has wit, I acknowledge, and more un- 
derstanding than half her sex put together ; but she keeps alive 
a perpetual expectation of satire, that spreads a general uneasi- 
ness among all who are in her presence ; and she talks so much 
that even the best things she says weary the attention. As to 
the little Louisa, ’tis such a pretty piece of languor, that ’tis 
almost cruel to speak rationally about her — else I should say, 
she is a mere compound of affectation, impertinence, and airs.” 

“ I am quite amazed,” said I, “ that with such opinions you 
can behave to them all with so much attention and civility.” 

17 


386 


EVELINA. 


“ Civility ! my angel, — why I could worship, could adore 
them, only to procure myself a moment of your conversation ! 
Have you not seen me pay my court to the gross Captain Mir- 
van and the virago Madame Duval ? Were it possible that a 
creature so horrid could be formed as to partake of the worst 
qualities of all these characters, — a creature who should have the 
haughtiness of Mrs. Beaumont, the brutality of Captain Mirvan, 
the self-conceit of Mrs. Selwyn, the affectation of Lady Louisa, 
and the vulgarity of Madame Duval, — even to such a monster as 
that I would pay homage, and pour forth adulation, only to 
obtain one word, one look from my adored Miss Anville !” 

“Sir Clement,'’ said I, “you are greatly mistaken, if you sup- 
pose this duplicity of character recommends you to my good 
opinion. • But I must take this opportunity of begging you never 
more to talk to me in this strain.” 

“ 0, Miss Anville, your reproofs, your coldness, pierce me to 
the soul ! look upon me with less rigour, and make me what you 
please ; you shall govern and direct all my actions, — you shall 
new-form, new-model me : — I will not have even a wish but of 
your suggestion ; only deign to look upon me with pity — if not 
with favour !” 

“ Suffer me, sir,” said I, very gravely, “ to make use of this 
occasion to put a final conclusion to such expressions. I entreat 
you never again to address me in a language so flighty and so 
unwelcome. You have already given me great uneasiness; and 
I must frankly assure you, that if you do not desire to banish me 
from wherever you are, you will adopt a very different style and 
conduct in future.” 

I then arose^ and was going, but he flung himself at my feet 
to prevent me, exclaiming, in a most passionate manner, “ Good 
God ! Miss Anville, what do you say ? is it, can it be possible, 
that so unmoved, that with such petrifying indifference, you can 
tear from me even the remotest hope ?” 

“ I know not, sir,” said I, endeavouring to disengage myself 
from him, “ what hope you mean, but I am sure that I never 
intended to give you any.’^ 


EVELINA. 


387 


“ You distract me,” cried he ; “ I cannot endure such scorn > 
I beseech you to have some moderation in your cruelty, lest you 
make me desperate : say, then, that you pity me, — O, fairest 
inexorable ! loveliest tyrant ! — say, tell me, at least, that you 
pity me !” 

Just then, who should come in sight,' as if intending to pass 
by the arbour, but Lord Orville! Good Heaven, how did I 
start ! and he, the moment he saw me, turned pale, and was 
hastily retiring : but I called out, “ Lord Orville ! Sir Clement, 
release me, let go my hand !” 

Sir Clement, in some confusion, suddenly rose, but still 
grasped my hand. Lord Orville, who had turned back, was 
again walking away : but, still struggling to disengage myself, I 
called out, “ Pray, pray, my lord, don’t go ! Sir Clemenf, I insist 
upon your releasing me !” 

Lord Orville, then hastily approaching us, said, with great 
spirit, “ Sir Clement, you cannot wish to detain Miss Anville by 
force !” 

“ Neither, my lord,” cried Sir Clement, proudly, “do I request 
the honour of your lordship’s interference.’’ 

However, he let go my hand, and I immediately ran into the 
house. 

I was now frightened to death, lest Sir Clement’s mortified 
pride should provoke him to affront Lord Orville : I therefore 
ran hastily to Mrs. Selwyn, and entreated her, in a manner 
hardly to be understood, to walk towards the arbour. She 
asked no questions, for she is quick as lightning in taking a 
hint, but instantly hastened into the garden. 

Imagine, my dear sir, how wretched I must be till I saw her 
return 1 scarce could I restrain myself from running back : how- 
ever, I checked my impatience, and waited, though in agonies, 
till she came. 

And now, my dear sir, I have a conversation to write the most 
interesting to me that I ever heard. The comments and ques- 
tions with which Mrs. Selwyn interrupted her account I shall 
not mention ; for they are such as you may very easily suppose. 

Lord Orville and Sir Clement were both seated very quietly in 


388 


EVELINA. 


the arbour : and Mrs. Selwyn, standing still as soon as she was 
within a few yards of them, heard Sir Clement say, “ Your ques- 
tion, my lord, alarms me, and I can by no means answer it, 
unless you will allow me to propose another,” 

“ Undoubtedly, sir.” 

“ You ask me, my lord, what are my intentions. I should be 
very happy to be satisfied as to your lordship’s.” 

“ T never, sir, professed any''' 

Here they were both, for a few moments, silent ; and then Sir 
Clement said, “To what, my lord, must I then impute your 
desire of knowing mine ?” 

“ To an unaffected interest in Miss Anville’s welfare.” 

“ Such an interest,” said Sir Clement, dryly, “ is indeed very 
generous ; but, except in a father, a brother, or a lover ” 

“ Sir Clement,” interrupted his lordship, “ I know your infer- 
ence ; and I acknowledge I have not the right of inquiry which 
any of those three titles bestows; and yet I confess the warmest 
wishes to serve her and see her happy. Will you, then, excuse 
me, if I take the liberty to repeat my question ?” 

“Yes, if your lordship will excuse my repeating, that T think 
it a rather extraordinary one.” 

“ It may be so,” said Lord Orville ; “ but this young lady 
seems to be peculiarly situated ; she is very young, very inex- 
perienced, yet appears to be left totally to her own direction. 
She does not, I believe, see the dangers to which she is exposed, 
and I will own to you, I feel a strong desire to point them out.” 

“ I don’t rightly understand your lordship, but I think you 
cannot mean to prejudice her against me ?” 

“ Her sentiments of you, sir, are as much unknown to me, as 
your intentions towards her. Perhaps, were I acquainted with 
either, my officiousness might be at an end ; but I presume not 
to ask upon what terms- ” 

Here he stopped; and Sir -Clement said, “You know, mv 
lord, I am not given to despair; I am by no means such a 
puppy as to tell you I am upon sure ground; however, persever- 
ance ” 

“ You are then determined to persevere ?” 


EVELINA. 


389 


“I am, my lord.” 

“ Pardon me, then. Sir Clement, if I speak to you with free- 
dom. This young lady, though she seems alone, and, in some 
measure, unprotected, is not entirely without friends ; she has 
been extremely well educated, and accustomed to good com- 
pany ; she has a natural love of virtue, and a mind that might 
adorn any station, however exalted : is such a young lady. Sir 
Clement, a proper object to trifle with ? for your principles, 
excuse me, sir, are well known.” 

“As to that, my lord, let Miss Anville look to herself; she has 
an excellent understanding, and needs no counsellor.” 

“ Her understanding is indeed excellent ; but she is too young 
for suspicion, and has an artlessness of disposition I never saw 
equalled.” 

“ My lord,” cried Sir Clement, warmly, “ your praises make 
me doubt your disinterestedness, and there exists not the man 
whom I would so unwillingly have for a rival as yourself. But 
you must give me leave to say, you have greatly deceived me in 
regard to this affair.” 

“ How so, sir ?” cried Lord Orville, with equal warmth. 

“ You were pleased, my lord,” answered Sir Clement, “ upon 
our first conversation concerning this young lady, to speak of 
her in terms by no means suited to your present encomiums ; 
you said she was a 'poor^ weak, ignorant girl, and I had great 
reason to believe you had a most contemptuous opinion of her.” 

“ It is very true,” said Lord Orville, “ that I did not, at our 
first acquaintance, do justice to the merits of Miss Anville : but I 
knew not then how new she was to the world ; at present, how- 
ever, I am convinced, that whatever might appear strange in her 
behaviour was simply the effect of inexperience, timidity, and a 
retired education ; for I find her informed, sensible, and intelli- 
gent. She is not, indeed, like most modern young ladies, to be 
known in half an hour : her mod'est worth and fearful excellence 
require both time and encouragement to show themselves. She 
does not, beautiful as she is, seize the soul by surprise, but with 
more dangerous fascination, she steals it almost imperceptibly.” 


390 


EVELINA. 


“ Enough, my lord,” cried Sir Clement, “your solicitude for 
her welfare is now sufficiently' exclained ” 

“ My friendship and esteem,” returned Lord* Orville, “ I do not 
wish to disguise ; but assure yourself, Sir Clement, I should not 
have troubled you upon this subject had Miss Anville and I ever 
conversed but as friends. However, since you do not choose to 
avow your intentions, we must drop the subject.” 

“ My intentions,” cried he, “ I will frankly own, are hardly 
known to myself. I think Miss Anville the loveliest of her sex ; 
and, were I a marrying man^ her, of all the women I have seen, 
I would fix upon for a wife : but I believe not even the phi- 
losophy of your lordship would recommend me to a connex- 
ion of that sort with a girl of obscure birth, whose only dowry 
is her beauty* and who is evidently in a state of dependency.” 

“ Sir Clement,” cried Lord Orville, with some heat, “ we will 
discuss this point no further ; we are both free agents, and must 
act for ourselves.” 

Here Mrs. Selvvyn, fearing a surprise, and finding my apprehen- 
sions of danger were groundless, retired hastily into another walk, 
and soon after came to give me this account. 

Good Heaven, what a man is this Sir Clement ! so designing, 
though so easy ! so deliberately artful, though so flighty ! 
Greatly, however, is he mistaken, all, confident as he seems ; for 
the girl, obscure, poor, dependent as she is, far from wishing the 
honour of his alliance, would not only now, but always have 
rejected it. 

As to Lord Orville, — but I will not trust my pen to mention 
him : tell me, my dear sir, what you think of him ? tell me if 
he is not the noblest of men ? and if you can either wonder at 
or blame my admiration ? 

The idea of being seen immediately by either party, after so 
singular a conversation, was both awkward and distressing tome ; 
but I was obliged to appear at- dinner. Sir Clement, I saw, was 
absent and uneasy; he watched me, he watched Lord Orville, 
and was evidently disturbed in his mind. Whenever he spoke 
to me, I turned from him with undisguised disdain, for I am too 


EVELINA. 


391 


much irritated against him to bear with his ill-meant assiduities 
any longer. 

But not once, not a moment, did I dare meet the eyes of Lord 
Orville ! All consciousness myself, I dreaded his penetration, 
directed mine every way but towards his. The rest of the day I 
never quitted Mrs. Selwyn. 

Adieu, my dear sir ; , to-morrow I expect your directions, 
whether I am to return to Berry Hill, or once more to visit Lon- 
don. 


: LETTER LXXVII. 

Evelina in continuation. 

Oct. 6. 

And now, my dearest sir, if the perturbation of my spirits will 
allow me, I will finish my last letter from Clifton Hill. 

This morning, though I did not go down-stairs early, Lord 
Orville was the only person in the parlour when I entered it. I 
felt no small confusion at seeing him alone after having so long 
and successfully avoided such a meeting. As soon as the usual 
compliments were over I would have left the room, but he stop- 
ped me by saying, “If I disturb you Miss Anville, I am gone.” 

“ My lord,” said I, rather embarrassed, “ I did not mean to 
stay.” 

“ I flattered myself,” cried he, “ I should have had a moment’s 
conversation with you.” 

I then turned back; and he seemed himself in some per- 
plexity: but, after a short pause, “You are very good,” said he, 
“ to indulge my request ; I have indeed, for some time past, most 
ardently desired an opportunity of speaking to you.” 

Again he paused ; but I said nothing, so he went on. 

“ You allowed me, madam, a few days since, you allowed me 
to lay claim to your friendship, — to interest myself in your 
aflairs, — to call you by the aflectionate title of sister ; and the 
honour you did me no man could have been more sensible of; I 
am ignorant, therefore, how I have been so unfortunate as to for- 


392 


EVELINA. 


feit it ; but, at present, all is changed 1 you fly me, — your avert, 
ed eye shuns to meet mine, and you sedulously avoid my con- 
versation.” 

I was extremely disconcerted at this grave and but too just 
accusation, and I am sure I must have looked very simple ; but 
I made no answer. 

“ You will not, I hope,” continued he, “ condemn me unheard : 
if there is any thing I have done. — or any thing I have neglected, 
— tell me, I beseech you, what^ and it shall be the whole study of 
my thoughts how to deserve your pardon.” 

“O my lord,” cried I, penetrated at once with shame and gra- 
titude, “ your too, too great politeness oppresses me ! you have 
done nothing, — I have never dreamed of offence ; if there is 
any pardon to be asked, it is rather for me than for you to ask 
it.” 

“You are all sweetness and condescension !” cried he, “and I 
flatter myself you will again allow me to claim those titles which 
I find myself so unable to forego. Yet, occupied as I am with an 
idea that gives me the greatest uneasiness, I hope you will ndl 
think me impertinent if I still solicit, still entreat, nay, implore 
you to tell me to what cause your late sudden and to me most 
painful reserve was owing ?” 

“ \ndeed, my lord,” said I, stammering, “ I don’t — I can’t — 
indeed, my lord, — ” 

“ T am sorry to distress you,” said he, “ and ashamed to be so 
urgent, — yet I know not how to be satisfied while in ignorance — 
and the time when the change happened makes me apprehend, 
— may I, Miss Anville, tell you what it makes me apprehend?” 

“ Certainly, my lord.” 

“ Tell me, then, — and pardon a question most essentially impor- 
tant to me ! Had or had not Sir Clement Willoughby any share 
in causing your inquietude ?” 

“ No, my lord,” answered I, with firmness, “ none in the world.” 

“ A thousand, thousands thanks !” cried he ; “ you have relieved 
me from a weight of conjecture which I supported very painfully. 
But one thing more : is it, in any measure, to Sir Clement that I 


EVELINA. 


393 


may attribute the alteration in your behaviour to myself, which, I 
could not but observe, began the very day after his arrival at the 
Hotwells?” 

“ To Sir Clement, my lord,” said I, “ attribute nothing. He is 
the last man in the world who would have any influence over my 
conduct.” 

“ And will you, then, restore me to that share of confidence 
and favour with which you honoured me before he came ?” 

Just then, to my great relief, — for I knew not what to say, — 
Mrs. Beaumont opened the door, and in a few minutes we went 
to breakfast. 

Lord Orville was all gayety ; never did I see him more lively 
or more agreeable. Very soon after. Sir Clement Willoughby 
called to pay his respects, he said, to Mrs. Beaumont. I then 
came to mj own room, where, indulging my reflections, which 
now soothed and now alarmed me, I remained very quietly, 
till T receive your most kind letter. 

0 sir, how sweet are the prayers you" offer for your Evelina! 
how grateful to her are the blessings you pour upon her head 1 — 
You commit me to my real /parent. — Ah, guardian, friend, protec- 
tor of my youth, — by whom my helpless infancy was cherished, 
my mind formed, my very life preserved , — you are the parent my 
heart acknowledges, and to you do I vow eternal duty, gratitude, 
and affection ! 

1 look forward to the approaching interview with more fear 
than hope; but, important as is this subject, I am just now 
whollv engrossed with another, which I must hasten to communi- 
cate. 

I immediately acquainted Mrs. Selwyn with the purport of 
your letter. She w^as charmed to find your opinion agreed with 
her own, and settled that we should go to-morrow morning; 
and a chaise is actually ordered to be here by one o’clock. 

She then desired me to pack up my clothes ; and said she must 
go herself to maM speeches and tell lies to Mrs. Beaumont. 

When I went down stairs to dinner. Lord Orville, who was still 
in excellent spirits, reproached me for secluding myself so much 

17 '^ 


394 


EVELINA. 


from the company. He sat next to me, — he would sit next me, 
at table ; and he might, I am sure, repeat what he once said of 
me before, that he almost exhausted himself in fruitless endea- 
vours to entertain me ; — for indeed, I was not to be entertained ; 
I was totally spiritless and dejected ; the idea of the approaching 
meeting, — and O sir, the idea of the approaching parting, — gave 
a heaviness to my heart that I could neither conquer nor repress. 
I even regretted the half explanation that had passed, and wished 
Lord Orville had supported his own reserve, and suffered me to 
support mine. 

However, when, during dinner, Mrs. Beaumont spoke of our 
journey, my gravity was no longer singular ; a cloud instantly 
overspread the countenance of Lord Orville, and he became 
nearly as thoughtful and as silent as myself. 

We all went together to the drawing-room. After a short and 
unentertaining conversation, Mrs. Selwyn said she must prepare 
for her journey, and begged me to see for some books she had 
left in the parlour. 

And here, while I was looking for them, I was followed by 
Lord Orville. He shut the door after he came in, and approach- 
ing me with a look of anxiety, said, “ Is this true. Miss Anville ? 
are you going ?” 

H “ I believe so, my lord,’’ said I, still looking for the books. 

“ So suddenly, so unexpectedly must I lose you ?” 

“No great loss, my lord,” cried I, endeavouring to speak 
cheerfully. 

“ Is it possible,” said he gravely, “ Miss Anville can doubt my 
sincerity ?” 

“ I can’t imagine,” cried I, “ what Mrs. Selwyn has done with 
these books.” 

“ Would to Heaven,” continued he, “ I might flatter myself 
you would allow me to prove it !” 

“ I must run up-stairs,” cried I, greatly confused, “ and ask 
what she has done with them.” 

“ You are going then,” cried he, taking my hand, “ and you 
give me not the smallest hope of your return ! — will you not^ 


EVELINA. 


395 


then, my too lovely friend ! — will you not, at least, teach me, 
with fortitude like your own, to support your absence ?” 

“ My lord,” cried I, endeavouring, to disengage my hand, “ pray 
let me go !” 

“ I will,” cried he, to my inexpressible confusion, dropping on 
one knee, “ If you wish to leave me !” 

“ 0, my lord,” exclaimed I, “ rise, I beseech you, rise ! — such 
a posture to me ! — surely your lordship is not so cruel as to mock 
me !” 

“ Mock you !” repeated he earnestly ; “ no ! I revere you ! I 
esteem and I admire you above all human beings ! you are the 
friend to whom my soul is attached as to its better half! you 
are the most amiable, the most perfect of women ! and you are 
dearer to me than language has the power of telling.” 

I attempt not to describe my sensations at that moment ; I 
scarce breathe ; I doubted if I existed, — the blood forsook my 
cheeks, and my feet refused to sustain me : Lord Orville, hastily 
rising, supported me to a chair, upon which I sunk almost lifeless. 

For a few minutes w^e-neither of us spoke ; and then, seeing me 
recover. Lord Orville, though in terms hardly articulate, entreated 
my pardon for his abruptness. The moment my strength 
returned I attempted to rise, but he would not permit me. 

. I cannot write the scene that followed, though every word is 
engraven on my heart ; but his protestations, his expressions 
were too flattering for repetition nor would he, in spite of my 
repeated efforts to leave him, sufier me to escape ; in short, my 
dear sir, I w^as not proof against his solicitations, and he drew 
from me the most sacred secret of my heart ! 

I know not how long we were together ; but Lord Orville was 
upon his knees, when the door w'as opened by Mrs. Selwyn ! — 
To tell you, sir, the shame with which I was overwhelmed would 
be impossible : — I snatched my hand from Lord Orville, — he, too, 
started and rose, and Mrs. Selwyn, for some, instants, stood facing 
us both in silence. 

At last, “ My lord,” said she, sarcastically, “ have you been 
so good as to help Miss Anville to look for my books ?” 


396 


EVELINA. 


“Yes, madam,” answered he, attempting to rally, “ and I hope 
we shall soon be able to find them.” 

“Your lordship is extremely kind,” said she, dryly, “ but I can 
by no means consent to take up any more of your time. “ Then 
looking, on the window-seat she presently found the books, and 
added, “ Come, here are just three, and so, like the servants in 
the Drummer, this important affair may give employment to us 
all.” She then presented one of them to Lord Orville, another 
to me, and taking a third herself, with a most provoking look, 
she left the room. 

I would instantly have followed her, but Lord Orville, who 
could not help laughing, begged me to stay a minute, as he had 
many important matters to discuss. 

“No, indeed, my lord, I cannot, — perhaps I have already staid 
too long.” 

“ Does Miss Anville so soon repent her goodness ?” 

“ I scarce know what I do, my lord ; I am quite bewildered !” 

“ One hour’s conversation,” cried he, “ will, I hope, compose 
your spirits and confirm my happiness. When, then, may I 
hope to see you alone ? shall you walk in the garden to-morrow 
before breakfast ?” 

“ No, no, my lord ; you must not, a second time, reproach me 
with making an appointment'^ 

“ Do you then,” said he, laughing, “ reserve that honour only 
for Mr. Macartney ?” 

“ Mr. Macartney,” said I, “ is poor, and thinks himself obliged 
to me ; otherwise ” 

“Poverty,” cried he, “I will not plead; but if being obliged 
to you has any weight, who shall dispute my title to an appoint- 
ment ?” 

“ My lord, I can stay no longer : Mrs. Selwyn will lose all 
patience.” 

“Deprive her not of the pleasure of conjectures^ but tell 
me, are you under Mrs. Selwyn’s care ?” 

“ Only for the present, my lord.” 

“Not a few are the questions I have to ask Miss Anville; 


EVELINA. 


397 


among them the most important is, whether she depends wholly 
on herself, or whether there is any other person for whose inter- 
est I must solicit ?” 

“ I hardly know, my lord, I hardly know myself to whom I 
most belong/’ 

“ Suffer, suffer me, then,” cried he, with warmth, “ to hasten 
the time when that shall no longer admit a doubt ! — when your 
grateful Orville may call you all his own !” 

At length, but with difficulty, I broke from him. I went, 
however, to my own room, for I was too much agitated to follow 
Mrs. Selwyn. Good God, my dear sir, what a scene ! surely the 
meeting for which I shall prepare to-morrow cannot so greatly 
affect me ! To be loved by Lord Orville, — to be the honoured 
choice of his noble he-art, — my happiness seemed too infinite to 
be borne, and I wept, even bitterly wept, from the excess of joy 
which overpowered me. 

In this state of almos.t painful felicity I continued till I was 
summoned to tea. When I re-entered the drawing-room, I 
rejoiced much to find it full of company, as the confusion with 
which I met Lord Orville was rendered the less observable. 

Immediately after tea most of the company played at cards, 
and then, till supper-time. Lord Orville devoted himself wholly 
to me. 

He saw that my eyes were red, and would not let me rest till 
he had made me confess the cause ; and when, though most 
reluctantly, I had acknowledged ray weakness, I could with diffi- 
culty refrain from weeping again at the gratitude he expressed. 

He earnestly desired to know if my journey could not be post- 
poned ; and when I said no, entreated permission to attend me 
to town. 

“0, my lord,” cried I, “ what a request” 

“ The sooner,” answered he, “ I make my devotion to you in 
public, the sooner I may expect from your delicacy you will con- 
vince the world you encourage no mere danglers!*' 

“You teach me, then, ray lord, the inference I might expect 
if I complied.” 

“ And can you wonder I should seek to hasten the happy time 


398 


EVELINA. 


when no scruples, no discretion will demand our separation ? and 
when the most punctilious delicacy will rather promote than 
oppose my liappiness in attending you ?” 

To this I was silent, and he reurged his request. 

“ My lord,” said I, “ you ask what I have no power to grant. 
This journey will deprive me of all right to act for myself.” 

“ What does Miss Anville mean?” 

“ I cannot now explain myself ; indeed, if I could, the task 
would be both painful and tedious.” 

“ O, Miss Anville,” cried he, “ when may I hope to date tho 
period of this mystery ? when flatter myself that my promised 
friend will indeed honour me with her confidence ?” 

“ My lord,” said I, “ I mean not to affect any mystery, but my 
affairs are so circumstanced, that a long and most unhappy story 
can alone explain them. However, if a short suspense will give 
your lordship any uneasiness ” 

“ My beloved Miss Anville,” cried he eagerly, “ pardon* my 
impatience. — You shall tell me nothing jmu would wish to con- 
ceal : I will wait your own time for information, and trust to your 
goodness for its speed.” 

“ There is nothing^ my lord, I wish to conceal ; to postpone an 
explanation is all I desire.” 

He then requested, that, since I would not allow him to 
accompany me to town, I would permit him to write to me, and 
promise to answer his letters. 

A sudden recollection of the two letters which had already 
passed between us occurring to me, I. hastily answered, “No 
indeed, my lord !” 

“ I am extremely sorry,” said he, gravely, “ that you think me 
too presumptuous. I must own I had flattered myself, that to 
soften the inquietude of an absence which seems attended by so 
many inexplicable circumstances, would not have been to incur 
your displeasure.” 

This seriousness hurt me ; and I could not forbear saying, 
“ Can you indeed desire, my lord, that I should, a second time, 
expose myself by an unguarded readiness to write to you ?” 


EVELINA. 


399 


¥ 

“ A second time ! unguarded readiness /” repeated he ; “ you 
amaze me !’' 

“ Has your lordship then quite forgotten the foolish letter I 
was so imprudent as to send you when in town ?” 

“ I have not the least idea,” cried he, “ of what you mean.” 

“ Why then, my lord,” said I, “ we had better let the subject 
drop.” 

“ Impossible !” cried he ; “I cannot rest without an explana- 
tion !” 

And then he obliged me to speak very openly of both the let- 
ters : but, my dear sir, imagine my surprise, when he assured me, 
in the most solemn manner, that, far from ever having written 
me a single line, he had never received, seen, or heard of my 
letter ! 

This subject, which caused mutual astonishment and perplexity 
to us both, entirely engrossed us for the rest of the evening ; and 
he made me promise to show him the letter I had received in 
his name to-morrow morning, that we might endeavour to dis- 
cover the author. 

After supper the conversation became general. 

And now, my dearest sir, may I not call for your congratula- 
tions upon the events of the day ? a day never to be recollected 
by me but with the most grateful joy ! I know how much you 
are inclined to think well of Lord Orville : I cannot, therefore, 
apprehend that my frankness to him will displease you. Per- 
haps the lime is not very distant, when your Evelina’s choice 
may receive the sanction of her best friend’s judgment and ap- 
probation, which seems now all she has to wish. 

In regard to the change in my situation which must first 
take place, surely I cannot be blamed for what has passed : the 
partiality of Lord Orville must not only reflect honour upon me, 
but upon all to whom I do or may belong. 

Adieu, most dear sir. I will write again when I arrive af. 
London. 


EVELINA. 


iOO 


LETTER LXXVIII. 

Evelina in continuation. 

Clifton, Oct. 7. 

You will see, my dear sir, that I was mistaken in supposing I 
should write no more from this place, where my residence now 
seems more uncertain than ever. 

This morning, during breakfast. Lord Orville took an oppor- 
tunity to beg me, in a low voice, to allow him a moment’s con- 
versation before I left Clifton : “ May I hope,” added he, “ that 
you will stroll into the garden after breakfast ?” 

I made no answer, but I believe my looks gave no denial ; for, 
indeed, I much wished to be satisfied concerning the letter. The 
moment, therefore, that I could quit the parlour, I ran up-stairs 
for my calash ; but before I reached my room, Mrs. Selwyn 
called after me, “ If you are going to walk. Miss Anville, be so 
good as to bid Jenny bring down my hat, and I’ll accompany 
you.” 

Very much disconcerted, I turned into the drawing-room with 
out making any answer, and there I hoped to wait unseen till 
she had otherwise disposed of herself. But in a few minutes the 
door opened, and Sir Clement Willoughby entered. 

Starting at the sight of him, in rising hastily I let drop the let- 
ter which I had brought for Lord Orville’s inspection, and be- 
fore I could recover it. Sir Clement, springing forward, had it in 
his hand. He was just presenting it to me, and at the same 
time inquiring after my health, when the signature caught his 
eye, and he read aloud “ Orville.” 

I endeavoured eagerly to snatch it from him, but he would 
not permit me ; and, holding it fast, in a passionate manner ex- 
claimed, “ Good God, Miss Anville, is it possible you can value 
such a letter as this ?” 

The question surprised and confounded me, and I was too 
much ashamed to answer him ; but finding he made an attempt 
to secure it, I prevented him and vehemently demanded him to 
return it. 


EVELINA. 


401 


“ Tell me first,” said he, holding it above my reach, “ tell me 
if you have since received any more letters from the same 
person ?” 

“ No, indeed,” cried I, “ never !” 

“ And will you also, sweetest of women, promise that you 
never will receive any more ! Say that, and you will make me 
the happiest of men.” 

“ Sir Clement,” cried I greatly confused, “ pray give me the 
letter.” 

“ And will you not first satisfy my doubts ? — will you not re- 
lieve me from the torture of the most distracting suspense ? — 
tell me but that the detested Orville has written to you no 
more !” 

“ Sir Clement,” cried I, angrily, “ you have no right to make 
any conditions, — so pray give me the letter directly.” 

“ Why such solicitude about this hateful letter ? can it possibly 
deserve your eagerness ? tell me, with truth, with sincerity tell 
me, does it really merit the least anxiety ?” 

“No matter, sir,” cried I, in great perplexity, “ the letter is mine, 
and therefore ” 

“ I must conclude, then,” said he, “ that the letter deserves 
your utmost contempt, but that the name of Orville is sufiicient 
to make you prize it.” 

“Sir Clement,” cried I, colouring, “you are quite — you are 
very much — the letter is not ” 

“ 0, Miss Anville,” cried he, “ you blush ! — you stammer !— 
Great Heaven ! it is then all as I feared !” 

“ I know not,” cried I, half-frightened, “ what you mean ; 
but I beseech you to give me the letter, and to compose your- 
self.” 

“ The letter,” cried he, gnashing his teeth, “ you shall never 
see more ! You ought to have burnt it the moment you had 
read it !” And in an instant he tore it into a thousand pieces. 

Alarmed at a fury so indecently outrageous, I would have run 
out of the room ; but he caught hold of my gown, and cried, 
“ Not yet, not yet must you go ! I am but half-mad yet, and 


402 


EVELINA. 


you must stay to finisli your work. Tell me, therefore, does Or- 
ville know your fatal partiality ? — Say yes'"' added be, trembling 
with passion, “ and I will fly you for ever !” 

“ For Heaven’s sake, Sir Clement,” cried I, “release me ! — if 
you do not, you will force me to call for help.” 

“Call then,” cried he, “inexorable and most unfeeling girl ; 
call, if you please, and bid all the world witness your triumph ; 
but could ten worlds obey your call, I would not part from you 
till you had answered me. Tell me, then, does Orville know you 
love him ?” 

At any other time, an inquiry so gross would have given me 
inexpressible confusion ; but now, the wildness of his manner ter- 
rified me, and I only said, “ Whatever you wish to know, Sir 
Clement, I will tell you another time ; but for the present I en- 
treat you to let me go !” 

“ Enough,” cried he, “ I understand you ! — the art of Orville 
has prevailed ; — cold, inanimate, phlegmatic as he is, you have 
rendered him the most envied of men ! — One thing more, and I 
have done : — will he marry you?” 

What a question ! my cheeks glow^ed with indignation, and I 
felt too proud to make any answer. 

“ I see, I see how it is,” cried he, after a short pause, “ and I 
find I am undone for ever!” Then, letting loose my gown, he 
put his hand to his forehead, and walked up and down the room 
in a hasty and agitated manner. 

Though now at liberty to go, I had not the courage to leave 
him ; for his evident distress excited all my compassion. And 
this was our situation, when Lady Louisa, Mr. Coverley, and Mrs. 
Beaumont entered the room. 

“Sir Clement Willoughby,” said the latter, “I beg pardon for 
snaking you wait so long, but ” 

She had not time for another Avord ; Sir Clement, too much 
disordered to know or care what he did, snatched up his hat, 
and brushing hastily past her, flew down-stairs and out of the 
house. 

And with him went my sincerest pity, though I earnestly hope 


EVELINA. 


103 


I shall see him no more. But what, iny dear sir, am I to con- 
clude from his strange speeches concerning the letter ? Does it 
not seem as if he was himself the author of it ? How else should 
he be so well acquainted with the contempt it merits? Neither 
do I know another human being who could serve any interest by 
such a deception. I remember, too, that just as I had given my 
own letter to the maid. Sir Clement came into the shop : prob- 
ably he prevailed upon her, by some bribery, to give it to him, 
and afterward, by the same means, to deliver to me an answer of 
his own writing. Indeed I can in no other manner account for 
this affair. O, Sir Clement, were you not yourself unhappy, I 
know not how I could pardon an artifice that has caused me so 
much uneasiness ! 

His abrupt departure occasioned a kind of general consterna- 
tion. 

“ Very extraordinary behaviour this !” cried Mrs. Beaumont. 

“ Egad,” said Mr. Coverley, “ the baronet has a mind to tip us 
a touch of the heroics this morning !” ^ 

“ I declare,” cried Lady Louisa, “ I never saw any thing so 
monstrous in my life ! it’s quite abominable ! — I fancy the man’s 
mad ; — I’m sure he has given me a shocking fright.” ‘ 

Soon after, Mrs. Selwyn came up-stairs with Lord Merton. 
The former, advancing hastily to me, said,'‘‘ Miss Anville, have 
you an almanac ?” 

“ I ! — No, madam.” 

“ Who has one, then ?” 

“ Egad,” cried Mr. Coverley, “ I never bought one in my life ; 
it would make me quite melancholy to have such timekeeper in 
my pocket. I would as soon walk all day before an hourglass.” 

“ You are in the right,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “ not to watch time, 
lest you should be betrayed, unawares, into reflecting how you 
employ it.” 

“ Egad, madam,” cried he, “ if Time thought no more of me 
than I do of Time, I believe I should bid defiance for one while 
to old age and wrinkles ; for deuce take me if ever I think about 
it at all.” 


404 


EVELINA. 


“ Pray, Mr. Coverley,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “ why do you think 
it necessary to tell me this so often 

“ Often !” repeated he, “ egad, madam, I don’t know why I 
said it now ; but I’m sure I can’t recollect that ever I owned as 
much before.” 

“ Owned it before !” cried she. “ Why, my dear sir, you own 
it all day long, for every word, every look, every action proclaims 
it.” 

I know not if he understood the full severity of her satire, but 
he only turned off with a laugh ; and she then applied to Mr. 
Lovel, and asked if he had an almanac. 

Mr. Lovel, who always looks alarmed when she addresses him, 
with some hesitation answered, “ I assure you ma’am, I have no 
manner of antipathy to an almanac, — none in the least, — I assure 
you ; — I dare say I have four or five.” 

“ Four or five ! pray, may I ask what use you make of so 
many ?” 

“ Use ! — really, ma’am, as to that, I don’t make any particular 
use of them ; but one must have them, to tell one the day of the 
month ; I’m sure else I should never keep it in my head.” 

“ And does your time pass so smoothly unmarked, that with- 
out an almanac you could not distinguish one day from another ?” 

“ Really, ma’am,” cried he, colouring,- “ I don’t see any thing 
so very particular in having a few almanacs ; other people have 
them, I believe, as well as I.” 

“ Don’t<?be offended,” cried she ; “ I have but made a little 
digression. All I want to know is the state of the moon ; for if 
it is at the full^ I shall be saved a world of conjectures, and 
know at once to what cause to attribute the inconsistencies I 
have witnessed this morning. In the first place, I heard Lord 
Orville excuse himself from going out, because he had business 
of importance to transact at home ; yet have I seen him saunter- 
ing alone in the garden this half hour. Miss Anville, on the 
other hand, I invited to walk out with me ; and, after seeking 
her everywhere round the house, I find her quietly seated in the 
drawing-room. And but a few minutes since. Sir Clement Wil- 


EVELINA. 


405 


lough by, with even more than his usual politeness, told me he 
was come to spend the morning here ; when, just now, I met 
him flying down-stairs, as if pursued by the Furies ; and far from 
repeating his compliments or making any excuse, he did not 
even answer a question I asked him, but rushed past me with the 
rapidity of a thief from a bailiflf.” 

“ I protest,” said Mrs. Beaumont, “ I can’t think what he 
meant ; such rudeness, from a man of any family, is quite incom- 
prehensible.” 

“ My lord,” cried Lady Louisa to Lord Merton, “ do you know 
he did the same by me ? — I was just going to ask him what was 
the matter, but he ran past me so quick, that I declare he quite 
dazzled my eyes. You can’t think, my lord, how he frightened 
me : I dare say I look as pale — don’t I look very pale, my lord?” 

‘‘ Your ladyship,” said Mr. Lovel, “ so well becomes the lilies, 
that the roses might blush to see themselves so excelled.” 

“Pray, Mr. Lovel,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “if the roses should 
blush, how would you find it out?” 

“ Egad,” cried Mr. Coverley, “ I suppose they must blush, as 
the saying is, like a blue dog ; for they are red already.” 

“Prithee, Jack,” said Lord Merton, “don’t you pretend to 
talk about blushes, that never knew what they were in your life.” 

“ My lord,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “ if experience alone can justify 
mentioning them, what an admirable treatise upon the subject 
may we not expect from your lordship !” 

“ O, pray, ma’am,” answered he, “ stick to Jack Coverley, — he’s 
your man : for my part, I confess I have a mortal aversion to 
arguments.” 

“ 0 fy, my lord !” cried Mrs. Selwyn : “ a senator of a nation ! 
a member of the noblest parliament in the world ! and yet neglect 
the art of oratory !” 

“ Why, faith, my lord,” said Mr. Lovel ; “ T think, in general, 
your house is not much addicted to study ! we of the Lower 
House have indubitably most application ; and, if I did not speak 
before a superior power” (bowing to Lord Merton), “T should 
presume to add, we have likewise the most able speakers.” 


406 


EVELINA. 


“ Mr. Level,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “ you deserve immortality for 
that discovery ! But for this observation and the confession of 
Lord Merton, I protest I should have supposed that a peer of the 
realm and an able logician were synonymous terms.” 

Lord Merton, turning upon his heel, asked Lady Louisa if she 
would take the air before dinner. 

“ Really,” answered she, “ I don’t know ; I am afraid it’s mon- 
strous hot ; besides ” (putting her hand to her forehead) “ I ain’t 
half well ; it’s quite horrid to have such weak nerves ! — the least 
thing in the world discomposes me : I declare that man’s oddness 
has given me such a shock I don’t know when I shall recover 
from it. But I’m a sad, weak creature ; don’t you think I am, my 
lord ?” 

“ 0, by no means,” answered he ; “ your ladyship is merely 
delicate, and devil take me if ever I had the least passion for an 
amazon !” 

“ 1 have the honour to be quite of your lordship’s opinion,” 
said Mr. Lovel, looking maliciously at Mrs. Selwyn, “ for I have 
an insuperable aversion to strength, either of body or mind, in a 
female.” 

“ Faith and so have I,” said Mr. Coverley ; “ for, egad, I’d as 
soon see a woman chop wood as hear her chop logic.” 

“ So would every man in his senses,” said Lord Merton ; “ for a 
woman wants nothing to recommend her but beauty and good- 
nature ; in every thing else she is either impertinent or unnatu- 
ral. For my prat, deuce take me if ever I wish to hear a word 
of sense from a woman as long as I live !” 

“It has always been agreed,” said Mrs. Selwyn, looking around 
her with the utmost contempt, “ that no man ought to be con- 
nected with a woman whose understanding is superior to his own. 
Now I very much fear that to accommodate all this good company 
according to such a rule would be utterly impracticable, unless 
we should choose subjects from Swift’s hospital of idiots.” 

How many enemies, my dear sir, does this unbounded severity 
excite ! Lord Merton, however, only whistled ; Mr. Coverley 
sang ; and Mr. Lovel, after biting his lips some time, said, “ ’Pon 


EVELINA. 


407 


honour, that lady — if she was not a lady, — I should be half 
tempted to observe, that there is something in such severity that 
is rather — I must say rather oddishP 

Just then a servant brought Lady Louisa a note upon a loaiter, 
which is a ceremony always used to her ladyship ; and I took 
the opportunity of this interruption to the conversation to steal 
out of the room. 

I went immediately to the parlour, which I found quite empty, 
for I did not dare walk in the garden after what Mrs. Selwyn had 
said. 

In a few minutes a servant announced Mr. Macartney ; saying 
as he entered the room, “ that he would acquaint Lord Orville 
he was there.” 

Mr. Macartney rejoiced much at finding me alone. He told 
me he had taken the liberty to enquire for Lord Orville by way 
of pretext for coming to the house. 

I then very eagerly inquired if he had seen his father. 

“I have madam,” said he, “ and the generous compassion you 
have shown made me hasten to acquaint you, that upon reading 
my unhappy mother’s letter, he did not hesitate to acknowledge 
me.” 

“ Good God !” cried I, with no little emotion, “ how similar are 
our circumstances ! And did he receive you kindly ?” 

“ I could not, madam, expect that he would ; the cruel tran- 
saction which obliged me to fly Paris was recent in his mem- 
ory.” 

« And, — have you seen the young lady?” 

“ No madam,” said he mournfully ; “ I was forbid her 
sight.” 

“ Forbid her sight ! — and why ?” 

“ Partly, perhaps, from prudence and partly from the remains 
of a resentment which will not easily subside. I only requested 
leave to acquaint her with my relationship, and be allowed to 
call her sister ; but it was denied me ! ‘ You have no sister,'’ said 

Sir John ; ‘ you must forget her existence' Hard and vain com- 
mand !” 


4:08 


EVELINA. 


“ You have, you have a sister,” cried I, from an impulse of pity 
which I could not repress ; “ a sister who is most warmly inter- 
ested in your welfare, and who only wants opportunity to mani- 
fest her friendship and regard.” 

“ Gracious Heaven !” cried he, “ what does Miss Anville mean ?” 

“ Anville,” said I, “ is not my real name ; Sir John Belmont is 
my father, he is yours, and I am your sister ! — You see, therefore, 
the claim we mutually have to each other’s regard ; we are 
not merely bound by the ties of friendship, but by those of blood. 
I feel for you already all the affection of a sister : I felt it indeed 
before I knew I was one. — Why, ray dear brother, do you not 
speak ? do you hesitate to acknowledge me ?” 

“ I am so lost in astonishment,” cried he, “ that I know not if 
I hear right !” 

“ I have, then, found a brother,” cried I, holding out my hand, 
“ and he will not own me !” 

“ Own you ! O, madam,” cried he, accepting my offered hand, 
“ is it indeed possible you can own me ? a poor, wretched adven- 
turer ! who so lately had no support but from your generosity ? 
whom your benevolence snatched from utter destruction ? — Can 
yozf, 0, madam, can you, indeed, and without a blush, condescend 
to own such an outcast for a brother ?” 

“ 0, forbear forbear,” cried I ; “ is this language proper for a sis- 
ter ? are we not reciprocally bound to each other ? — Will you not 
suff. r me to expect from you all the good oflSices in your power ? 
— But tell me, where is our father at present ?” 

“ At the Hotwells, madam ; he arrived there yesterday morn- 
ing.” 

I would have proceeded with further questions, but the entrance 
of Lord Orville prevented me. The qjoment he saw us he started, 
and would have retreated ; but drawing my hand from Mr* 
Macartney’s I begged him to come in. 

For a few moments we were all silent, and, I believe, all in 
equal confusion. Mr. Macartney, however, recollecting himself, 
said, “ I hope your lordship will forgive the liberty I have taken 
in making use of your name.” 


EVELINA. 


409 


Lord Orville, rather coldly, bowed, but said nothing. 

Again we were all silent, and then Mr. Macartney toot leave. 

“ I fancy,’’ said Lord Orville, when he was gone, “ I have 
shortened Mr. Macartney’s visit.” 

“ No, my lord, not at all.” 

“ I had presumed,” said he, with some hesitation, “ I should 
have seen Miss Anville in the garden ; but I knew not she was so 
much better engaged.” 

Before I could answer, a servant came to tell me the chaise 
was ready, and that Mrs. Selwyn was inquiring for me. 

“ I will wait on her immediately,” cried I, and away I was run- 
ning ; but Lord Orville, stopping me, said with great emotion, 
“ Is it thus, Miss Anville, you leave me ?” 

“ My lord,” cried I, “ how can I help it ? perhaps, soon, some 
better opportunity may offer.” 

“ Good Heaven !” cried he, “ do you indeed take me for a stoic ! 
What better opportunity may I hope for? is not the chaise 
come ? are you not going ? have you even deigned to tell me 
whither ?” 

“ My journey, my lord, will now be deferred. Mr. Macartney 
has brought me intelligence which renders it at present unneces- 
sary.” 

“ Mr. Macartney,” said he, gravely, “ seems to have great influ- 
ence, yet he is a very young counsellor.” 

“ Is it possible, my lord, Mr. Macartney can give you the least 
uneasiness ?” 

“ My dearest Miss Anville,” said he, taking my hand, “ I see, 
and I adore the purity of your mind, superior as it is to all 
little arts, and all apprehensions of suspicion ; and I should do 
myself as well as you injustice, if I were capable of harbouring 
the smallest doubts of that goodness which makes you mine for 
ever : nevertheless, pardon me if I own myself surprised, nay, 
alarmed, at these frequent meetings with so young a man as Mr. 
Macartney.” 

“ My lord,” cried I, eager to clear myself, “ Mr. Macartney is 
my brother.” 


18 


410 


EVELINA. 


“ Your brother ! you amaze me ! What strange mystery, then, 
makes his relationship a secret ?” 

Just then Mrs. Selwyn opened the door. “ O, you are here !’’ 
cried she. “ Pray, is my lord so kind as to assist you in prepar- 
ing for your journey, or in retarding it ?” 

' “I should be most happy,” said Lord Orville, smiling, “if it 
were in my power to do the latter^ 

I then acquainted her with Mr. Macartney’s communication. 

She immediately ordered the chaise away : and then took me 
into her own room to consider what should be done. 

A few minutes sufficed to determine her ; and she wrote the 
following note. 

To Sir John Belmont^ Bart. 

“ Mrs. Selwyn presents her compliments to Sir John Belmont; 
and if he is at leisure, will be glad to wait on him this morning, 
upon business of importance.” 

She then ordered her man to inquire at the pump-room for 
a direction, and went herself to Mrs. Beaumont to apologize for 
deferring her journey. 

An answer was presently returned, that he would be glad to 
see her. 

She would have had me immediately accompany her to the 
Hotwells ; but I entreated her to spare me the distress Of so 
abrupt an introduction, and to pave the way for my reception. 
She consented rather reluctantly, and, attended only by her ser- 
vant walked to the Wells. 

She was not absent two hours ; yet so miserably did time seem 
to linger, that I thought a thousand accidents had happened, and 
feared she would never return. I passed the whole time in my 
own room, for I was too much agitated even to converse with 
Lord Orville. 

'I'he instant that, from my window, I saw her returning, I flew 
down-stairs, and met her in the garden. 

We both walked to the arbour. 

Her looks, in which disappointment and anger were expressed, 


EVELINA. 


4:11 


presently announced to me the failure of her' embassy. Finding 
that she did not speak, I asked her, in a faltering voice, whether 
or not I had a father. 

“ You have not^ my dear !’’ said she abruptly. 

“Very well, madam,” said I, with tolerable calmness; “let 
the chaise then be ordered again ; I will go to Berry Hill, and 
there, I trust, I shall still find one !” 

It was some time ere she could give, or I -could hear, the 
account of her visit ; and then she related it in a hasty manner ; 
yet I believe I can recollect every word. 

“ I found Sir John alone. He received me with the utmost 
politeness. I did not keep him a moment in suspense as to the 
purport of my visit. But I had no sooner made it known, than, 
with a supercilious smile, he said, ‘ And have you, madam, been 
prevailed upon to revive that ridiculous old story V Ridiculous, 
I told him, was a term which he would find no one else do him 
the favour to make use of, in speaking of the horrible actions 
belonging to the old story he made so light of ; ‘ actions,’ con- 
tinued I, ‘ which would die still deeper the black annals of Nero 
or Caligula.’ He attempted in vain to rally ; for I pursued him 
with all the severity in my power, and ceased not painting the 
enormity of his crime till I stung him to the quick, and, in a 
a voice of passion and impatience, he said, “No more, madam, 
— this is not a subject upon which I need a monitor.’ ‘ Make, 
then,’ cried I, ‘ the only reparation in your power. Your daugh- 
ter is now at Clifton ; send for her hither ; and, in the face of 
the world, proclaim the legitimacy of her birth, and clear the 
reputation of your injured wife.’ ‘ Madam,’ said he, ‘ you are 
much mistaken, if you suppose I waited for the honour of this 
visit before I did what little justice now depends upon me to 
the memory of that unfortunate woman : her daughter has 
been my care from her infancy ; I have taken her into my 
house; she bears my name ; and she will be my sole heiress.’ — 
For some time this assertion appeared so absurd, that I only 
laughed at it ; but, at last, he assured me I had myself been 
imposed upon ; for that the very woman who attended Lady 


412 


EVELINA. 


Belmont in her last illness conveyed the child to him while he 
was in London, before she was a year old. ‘ Unwilling,’ he 
added, ‘ at that time to confirm the rumour of my being mar' 
ried, I sent the woman with the child to France : as soon as she 
was old enough, I put her into a convent, where she has been 
properly educated, and now I have taken her home. I have 
acknowledged her for my lawful child, and paid, at length, to 
the memory of her unhappy mother a tribute of fame which has 
made me wish to hide myself hereafter from all the world.’ 
This whole story sounded so improbable, that I did not scruple 
to tell him I discredited every word. He then rung his bell ; 
and, inquiring if his hairdresser was come, said he was sorry to 
leave me; but that if I would favour him with my company to mor- 
row, he would do himself the honour of introducing Miss Belmont 
to ??^e, instead of troubling me to introduce her to him. T rose 
in great indignation , and assuring him I would make his conduct 
as public as it was infamous, I left the house.” 

Good Heaven, how strange the recital ! how incomprehensible 
an affair! The Miss Belmont, then, who is actually at Bristol, 
passes for the daughter of my unhappy mother I — passes, in short, 
for your Evelina 1 Who she can be, or what this tale can mean, 
I have not any idea. 

Mrs. Selwyn soon after left me to my own reflections. Indeed, 
they were not ve,ry pleasant. Quietly as I had borne her rela- 
tion, the moment I was alone I felt most bitterly both the disgrace 
and sorrow of a rejection so cruelly inexplicable. 

I know not how long I might have continued in this situation 
had I not been awakened from my melancholy revery by the 
voice of Lord Orville. “ May I come in,” cried he, “ or shall I 
interrupt you ?” 

I was silent, and he seated himself next me. 

“ I fear,” he continued, “ Miss Anville will think I persecute her : 
yet so much as I have to say, and so much as I wish to hear, 
with so few opportunities for either, she cannot wonder — and I 
hope that she will not be offended, that I seize with such avidity 
every moment in my power to converse with her. You are grave,” 


EVELINA. 


413 


added he, taking my hand ; “ I hope you do not regret the delay 
of your journey ? — I hope the pleasure it gives to me will not be 
a subject of pain to you ? — You are silent ! — Something, I am sure, 
has afflicted you ; — would to Heaven I were able to console you ! — 
would to Heaven I were worthy to participate in your sorrows !” 

My heart was too full to bear this kindness, and I could only 
answer by my tears. “ Good Heaven,” cried he, “ how you alarm 
me ! — My love, my sweet Miss Anville, deny me no longer to be 
the sharer of your griefs ! — tell me, at least, that you have not 
withdrawn your esteem ? — that you do not repent the goodness 
you have showm me ! — that you still think me the same grateful 
Orville whose heart you have deigned to accept !” 

“ Oh, my lord,” cried I, “ your generosity overpowers me !” 
And I wept like an infant. For, now that all my hopes of being 
acknowledged seemed finally crushed, I felt the nobleness of his 
disinterested regard so forcibly, that I could scarce breathe under 
the weight of gratitude which oppressed me. 

He seemed greatly shocked ; and, in terms the most flattering, 
the most respectfully tender, he at once soothed my distress and 
urged me to tell him its cause. 

“ My lord,” said I, when I was able to speak, “ you little know 
what an outcast you have honoured with your choice ! — a child 
of bounty, — an orphan from infancy, — dependent, even for sub- 
sistence dependent upon the kindness of compassion ! — Rejected 
by my natural friends, — disowned for ever by my nearest relation, 

0, my lord, so circumstanced, can I deserve the distinction 

with which you honour me ? No, no; I feel the inequality too 
painfully you must leave me, my lord ; you must suffer me to 
return to obscurity ; and there, in the bosom of my first, best, 
my only friend, — I will pour forth all the grief of my heart ! — 
while you my lord, must seek elsewhere ” 

I could not proceed ; my whole soul recoiled against the charge 
I would have given, and my voice, refused to utter it. 

“Never !’• cried he, warmly ; “my heart is yours, and T swear 
to you an attachment eternal !— You prepare me, indeed, for a 
tale of horror, and I am almost breathless with expectation ; — ■ 


414 


EVELINA. 


but so firm is my conviction, that whatever are your misfortunes, 
to have merited them is not of the number, that I feel myself 
more strongly, more invincibly devoted to you than ever ! — Tell 
me but where I may find this noble friend, whose virtues you 
have already taught me to reverence, — and I will fly to obtain 
his consent and intercession, that henceforward our fates may be 
indissolubly united ! — and then shall it be the sole study of my 
life to endeavour to soften your past and guard you from future 
misfortunes !” 

I had just raised my eyes to answer the most generous of men, 
when the first object they met was Mrs. Selwyn. 

“ So, my dear,” cried she, “ what still courting the rural shades ! 
I thought ere now you would have satiated with this retired seat, 
and I have been seeking you all over the house. But I find the 
only way to meet with yow, is to inquire for Lord Orville. How- 
ever, don’t let me disturb your meditations ; you are possibly 
planning some pastoral dialogue.” 

And, with this provoking speech, she walked on. 

In the greatest confusion I was quitting the arbour when Lord 
Orville said, “ Permit we to follow Mrs. Selwyn ; — it is time to 
put an end to all impertinent conjectures: will you allow me to 
speak to her openly ?” 

I assented in silence, and he left me. 

I then went to my own room, where I continued till I was 
summoned to dinner : after which Mrs. Selwyn invited me to hers. 

The moment she had shut the door, “Your ladyship,” said 
she, “ will, I hope, be seated ?” 

“ Ma’am,” cried I, staring. 

“ Oh the sweet innocent ! So you don’t know what I mean ? 
but, my dear, my sole view is to accustom you a little to your 
dignity elect, lest, when you are addressed by your title you 
should look another way, from an apprehension of listening to 
a discourse not meant for you to hear.” 

Having, in this manner, diverted herself with my confusion 
till her raillery was almost exhausted, she congratulated me very 
seriously upon the partiality of Lord Orville, and painted to me, 


EVELINA. 


415 


in the strongest terms, his disinterested desire of being married 
to mo immediately. She had told him, she said, my whole 
stoiT, and yet he was willing, nay, eager, that our union should 
tike place of any further application to my family. “Now, my 
dear,” continued she, “ I advise you by all means to marry him 
directly ; nothing can be more precarious than our success with 
Sir John ; and the young men of this age are not to be trusted 
with too much time for deliberation, where their interests are 
concerned.” 

“ Good God, madame,” cried I, “ do you think I would hurry 
Lord Orville ?” 

“ Well, do as you will,” said she ; “ luckily, you have an excel- 
lent subject for Quixotism ; — otherwise this delay might prove 
your ruin ; but Lord Orville is almost as romantic as if he had 
been born and bred at Berry Hill.” 

She then proposed, as no better expedient seemed likely to be 
suggested, that I should accompany her at once in her visit to 
the Hotw'ells to-morrow morning. 

The very idea made me tremble ; yet she represented so 
strongly the necessity of pursuing this unhappy affair with spirit, 
or giving it totally up, that wanting her force of argument, I 
w^as almost obliged to yield to her proposal. 

Ill the evening we all walked in the garden : and Lord Orville, 
who never quitted my side, told me he had been listening to a 
tale which, though it had removed the perplexities that had so 
long tormented him, had penetrated him with sorrow and com- 
passion. I acquainted him with Mrs. Selwyn’s plan for to-mor- 
row, and confessed the extreme terror it gave me. He then, in 
a manner almost unanswerable, besought me to leave to him the. 
conduct of the affair, by consenting to be his before an interview 
took place. 

I could not but acknowledge my sense of his generosity : but 
I told him I was wholly dependent upon you : and that I was 
certain your opinion would be the same as mine ; which was, that 
it would be highly improper I should dispose of myself for ever, 
so very near the time which must finally decide by whose 


41G 


EVELINA. 


authority I ought to be guided. The subject of this dreaded 
meeting, with the thousand conjectures and apprehensions to 
which it gives birth, employed all our conversation then, as it 
has all my thoughts since. 

Heaven only knows how I shall support myself when the long 
expected, the wished, yet terrible moment arrives, that will pros- 
trate me at the feet of the nearest, the most reverenced of all 
relations, whom my heart yearns to know, and longs to love ! 

LETTER LXXIX. 

Evelina in continuation, 

Oct. 9. 

I COULD not write yesterday, so violent was the agitation of 
my mind ; — but I will not now lose a moment till I have hastened 
to my best of friends an account of the transactions of a day I 
can never recollect without emotion, 

Mrs. Selwyn determined upon sending no message, “ lest,” 
said she, “Sir John, fatigued with the very idea of my re- 
proaches, should endeavour to avoid a meeting. He cannot but 
see who you are, whether he will do you justice or not.” 

We went early, and in Mrs. Beaumont’s chariot ; into which 
Lord Orville, uttering words of the kindest encouragement, 
handed us both. 

My uneasiness during the ride was excessive ; hut when wc 
stopped at the door I was almost senseless with terror! the 
meeting at last was not so dreadful as that moment ! I believe 
I was carried into the house ; but I scarce recollect what was 
done with me : however, I know we remained some time in the 
parlour before Mrs. Selwyn could send any message up-stairs. 

When I was somewhat recovered, I entreated her to let me 
return home, assuring her I felt myself quite unequal to support- 
ing the interview. 

“No,” said she; “you must stay now; your fears will but 
gain strength by delay ; and we must not have such a shock as 


EVELINA. 


417 


this repeated.” Then turning to the servant, she sent up her 
name. 

An answer was brought, that he was going out in great haste, 
but would attend her immediately. I turned so sick, that Mrs. 
Selwyn was apprehensive I should have fainted ; and opening a 
door which led to an inner apartment, she begged me to wait 
there till I was somewhat composed, and till she had prepared 
for my reception. 

Glad of every moment’s reprieve, I willingly agreed to the pro- 
posal ; and Mrs. Selwyn had but just time to shut me in before 
her presence was necessary. 

The voice of a father — 0, dear and revered name ! — which 
then, for the first time, struck my ears, affected me in a manner 
I cannot describe, though it was only employed in giving orders 
to a servant as he came down stairs. 

Then, entering the parlour, I heard him say, “ I am sorry 
madam, I made you wait ; but I have an engagement which now 
calls me away ; however, if you have any commands for me, 
I shall be glad of the honour of your company some other time.” 

“ I am come, sir,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “ to introduce your daugh- 
ter to you.” 

“ I am infinitely obliged to you,” answered he ; “ but I have 
just had the satisfaction of breakfasting with her. Ma’am your 
most obedient.” 

“ You refuse, then, to see her?” 

“ T am much indebted to you, madam, for this desire of in- 
creasing my family ; but you must excuse me if I decline taking 
advantage of it. I have already a daughter, to whom I owe 
every thing ; and it is not ihree days since that I had the plea- 
sure of discovering a son ; how many more sons and daughters 
may be brought to me I am yet to learn ; but I am already 
perfectly satisfied with the size of my family.” 

“ Had you a thousand children, Sir John,” said Mrs. Selwyn, 
warmly, “ this only one, of which Lady Belmont was the mother 
ought to be most distinguished ; and, far from avoiding her sight, 
you should thank your stars, in humble gratitude, that there yet 

18 * 


418 


EVELINA. 


remains in your power the smallest opportunity of doing the in 
jured wife you have destroyed the poor justice of acknowledging 
her child !” 

“ I am very unwilling, madam,” answered he “ to enter into 
any discussion of this point ; but you are determined to compel 
me to speak. There lives not at this time the human being who 
should talk to me of regret due to the memory of that ill-fated 
woman ; no one can feel it so severely as myself : but let me, 
nevertheless, assure you I have already done all that remained 
in my power to prove the respect she merited from me :her child 
I bnve educated, and owned for my lawful heiress : if, ma- 
dam, you can suggest to me any other means by which I may 
more fully do her justice, and more clearly manifest her inno- 
cence, name them to me ; and though they should wound my 
character still deeper, I will perform them readily.” 

“ All this sounds vastly well,” returned Mrs. Selwyn ; “ but I 
must own it is rather too enigmatical for my faculties of compre- 
hension. You can, however, have no objection to seeing this 
young lady ?” 

“ None in the world.” 

“ Come forth, then, my dear,” cried she opening the door ; 
“ come forth, and see your father !” Then, taking my trembling 
hand, she led me forward. I would have withdrawn it and 
retreated ; but, as he advanced instantly towards me, I found 
myself already before him. 

What a moment for your Evelina ! — an involuntary scream 
escaped me, and covering my face with my hands, I sunk on the 
floor. 

He had, however, seen me first : for in a voice scarce articulate 
he exclaimed, “ My God ! does Caroline Evelyn still live !” 

Mrs. Selwyn said something, but I could not listen to her; and 
in a few minutes he added, “ Lift up thy head — if my sight has 
not blasted thee ! — lift up thy head, thou image of my long lost 
Caroline !” 

Afiected beyond measure, I b^lf rose and embraced his knees 
while yet on my own, 


EVELINA. 


419 


Yes, yes,” cried he, looking earnestly in my face, “ I see — I see 
thou art her child ! she lives — she breathes, — she is present to iny 
view ! O God, that she indeed lived ! — Go, child, go,” added he, 
wildly starting, and pushing me from him; “take her away, 
madan), — I cannot bear to look at her !” and then, breaking has- 
tily from me, he rushed out of the room. 

Speechless, motionless myself, I attempted not to stop him : 
but Mrs. Selwyn, hastening after him, caught hold of his arm : 
“ Leave me, madam,” cried he, with quickness, “ and take care 
of the poor child : — bid her not think* me unkind : tell her, I 
■would at this moment plunge a dagger in my heart to serve 
her : but she has set my brain on fire ; and I can see her no 
more.” Then, with a violence almost frantic, he ran up-stairs. 

0 sir, had I not indeed cause to dread this interview ? — an 
interview so unspeakably painful and afflicting to us both ! Mrs. 
Selwyn wmuld have immediately returned to Clifton ; but I 
entreated her to wait some time, in the hope that my unhappy 
father, when his first emotion was over, would again bear me in 
his sight. However, he soon after sent his servant to inquire how I 
did ; and to tell Mrs. Selwyn he was much indisposed, but would 
hope for the honour of seeing her to-morrow at any time she 
would please to appoint. 

She fixed upon ten o’clock in the morning ; and then, with a 
heavy heart, I got into the chariot. Those afflicting words, I 
can see her no more ! were never a moment absent from my 
mind. 

Yet the sight of Lord Orville, who handed us from the car- 
riage, gave some relief to the sadness of my thoughts. I could 
not, however, enter upon the painful subject; but begging Mrs. 
Selwyn to satisfy him, I went to my owm room. 

As soon as I communicated to the good Mrs. Clinton the present 
situation of my affairs, an idea occurred to her which seemed to 
clear up all the mystery of my having been so long disowned. 

The woman, she says, who attended my ever-to-be-regretted 
mother in her last illness, and who nursed me the first four 
months of my life, soon after being discharged from your house, 


420 


e;velina. 


left Berry Hill entirely, with her baby, who was but six weeks 
older than myself. Mrs. Clinton remembers, that her quitting the 
place appeared at the time very extraordinary to the neighbours ; 
but, as she was never heard of afterwards she was by degrees 
quite forgotten. 

The moment this was mentioned, it struck Mrs. Selwyn, as well 
as Mrs. Clinton herself, that my father had been imposed upon ; 
and that the nurse, who said she had brought his child to him, 
had, in fact, carried her own. 

The name by whicli I was known, the secrecy observed in 
regard to ray family, and the retirement in which I lived, all 
conspired to render this scheme, however daring and fraudulent, 
by no means impracticable ; and, in short, the idea was no sooner 
started than conviction seemed to follow it. 

Mrs. Selwyn determined immediately to discover the truth or 
mistake of this conjecture ; therefore the moment she had dined, 
she walked to the Hotwells, attended by Mrs. Clinton. ^ 

I waited in my room till her return ; and then heard the fol- 
lowing account of her visit : 

She found my poor father in great agitation. She immedi- 
ately informed him of the occasionof her so speedy return, and 
of her suspicions of the woman who had pretended to convey to 
him his child. Interrupting her with quickness, he said he had 
just sent her from his presence ; that the certainty I carried in 
my countenance of ray real birth made him, the moment he had 
recovered from a surprise which had almost deprived him of 
reason, suspect himself the imposition she mentioned. He had, 
therefore, sent for the woman, and questioned her with the 
utmost austerity ; she turned pale, and was extremely embar- 
rassed; but she still persisted in affirming that she had really 
brought him the daughter of Lady Belmont. His perplexity, 
he said, almost distracted him : he had always observed that his 
daughter bore no resemblance to either of her parents ; but, as 
he had never doubted the veracity of the nurse, this circumstance 
did not give birth to any suspicion. 

At Mrs. Selwyn^s desire, the woman was again called and 


EVELINA. 


421 


interrogated with equal art and severit}’ ; her confusion was 
evident, and her answers often contradictory ; yet she still 
declared she was no impostor. “ We will see that in a minute,” 
said Mrs. Selwyn ; and then desired Mrs. Clinton might be called 
up-stairs. The poor wretch, changing colour, would have 
escaped out of the room ; but, being prevented, dropped on her 
knees, and implored forgiveness. A confession of the whole 
affair was then extorted from her. 

Doubtless, my dear sir, you must remember Dame Green^ who 
was my first nurse. The deceit she has practised was suggested, 
she says, by a conversation she overhead, in which my unhappy 
mother besought you, that, if her child survived her, you would 
take the sole care of its education ; and, in particular, if it should 
be a female, you would by no means part with her in early life. 
You not only consented, she says, but assured her you would 
even retire abroad with me yourself, if my. father should impor- 
tunately demand me. Her own child, she said, was then in her 
arms, and she could not forbear wishing it were possible to give 
her the fortune which seemed so little valued for me. This wish, 
once raised, was not easily suppressed ; on the contrary, what at 
first appeared a mere idle desire, in a short time seemed a 
feasible scheme. Her husband was dead, and she had little 
regard for anybody but her child ; and, in short, having saved 
money for the journey, she contrived to inquire a direction to my 
father; and telling her neighbours she was going to settle in 
Devonshire, she set out on her expedition. 

When Mrs. Selwyn asked her how she dared perpetrate such 
a fraud, she protested she had no ill designs ; but that, as miss 
would never be the worse for it, she thought it a pity nobody 
should be the better. 

Her success we are already acquainted with. Indeed, every- 
thing seemed to contribute towards it : my father had no cor- 
respondent at Berry Hill ; the child was instantly sent to France, 
where, being brought up in as much retirement as myself, 
nothing but accident could discover the fraud. 

And here let me indulge myself in observing, and rejoicing to 


422 


EVELINA. 


observe, that the total neglect I thought I met with was not the 
effect of insensibility or imkindness, but of imposition and error ; 
and that, at the very time we concluded I was unnaturally 
rejected, my deluded father meant to show me most favour and 
protection. 

He acknowledges that Lady Howard’s letter flung him into 
some perplexity : he intmediately communicated it to Dame 
Green, who confessed it was the greatest shock she had ever 
received in her life ; yet she had the art and boldness to assert, 
that Lady Howard must herself have been deceived ; and as she 
had, from the beginning of her enterprise, declared she had stolen 
away the child without your knowledge, he concluded that some 
deceit was then intended him ; and this thought occasioned hfs 
abrupt answer. 

Dame Green owned, that from the moment the journey to 
England was settled, she gave herself up for lost. All her hope 
w^as to have had her daughter married before it took place ; for 
which reason she had so much promoted Mr. Macartney’s 
addresses; for though such a match was inadequate to the pre- 
tensions of Miss Belmont^ she well knew it was far superior to 
those her daughter could form after the discovery of her birth. 

My first inquiry was, if this innocent daughter was yet 
acquainted with the affair. “ No,” Mrs. Selwyn said ; “nor was 
any plan settled how to divulge it to her.” Poor, unfortunate 
girl ! how hard is her fate ! She is entitled to my kindest ofiSces, 
and I shall always consider her as my sister. 

I then asked whether my father would again allow me to see 
him. 

“ Why, no, my dear, not yet,” answered she ; “ he declares the 
bight of you is too much for him ; however, we are to settle 
everything concerning you to-morrow ; fort his woman took up all 
our time to-day.” 

This morning, therefore, she is again gone to the Hotwells. I 
am waiting in all impatience for her return ; but, as I know you 
will be anxious for the account this letter contains, I will not 
delay sending it. 


EVELINA. 


423 


LETTER LXXX. 


JEvelina in continuation. 

Oct. 9. 

How agitated, dear sir, is the present life of your Evelina ! 
every day seems important, and one event only a prelude 
to another. 

Mrs. Selwyn, upon her return this morning from the Hotwells, 
entering my room very abruptly, said, “ 0, my dear, I have ter- 
rible news for you !” 

“ For me, ma’am ! — Good God ! what now ?” 

“Arm yourself,” cried she, “with all your Berry Hill philoso- 
phy ; con over every lesson of fortitude or resignation you ever 
learned in your life ; — for know — you are next week to be mar- 
ried to Lord Orville !” 

Doubt, astonishment, and a kind of perturbation I cannot 
describe made this abrupt communication alarm me extremely ; 
and, almost breathless, I could only exclaim, “ Good God, madam, 
what do you tell me ?” 

“ You may well be frightened, my dear,” said she, ironically ; 
“ for really there is something mighty terrific in becoming, at 
once, the wife of the man you adore and a countess !” 

I entreated her to spare her raillery, and tell me her real 
meaning. She could not prevail with herself to grant the first 
request, though she readily complied with the second. 

My poor father, she said, was still in the utmost uneasiness • 
he entered upon his afifairs with great openness, and told her he 
was equally disturbed how to dispose either of the daughter he 
had discbvered or the daughter he was now to give up ; the for- 
mer he dreaded to trust himself with again beholding, and the 
latter he knew not how to shock with the intelligence of her 
disgrace. Mrs. Selwyn then acquainted him with my situation 
in regard to Lord Orville: this delighted him extremely; and, 
when he heard of his lordship’s eagerness, he said he was himself 
of opinion the sooner the union took place the better ; and, in 
return, he informed her of the afifair of Mr. Macartney, and, 


4-24 


EVELINA. 


after a very long conversation, continued Mrs. Selwyn, we agreed, 
that the most eligible scheme for all parties would be, to have 
both the real and the fictitious daughter married wdthout delay. 
Therefore, if either of you have any inclination to pull caps for 
the title of Miss Belmont, you must do it with all speed, as next 
week will take from both of you all pretensions to it. 

“ Next week ; — dear madam, what a strange plan ! without my 
being consulted, — without applying to Mr. Yillars, — without even 
the concurrence of Lord Orville !” 

“ As to consulting yow, my dear, it was out of all question ; 
because, you know, young ladies’ hearts and hands are always to 
be given with reluctance ; — as to Mr. Villars, it is suflScient we 
know him for your friend ; — and as for Lord Orville, he is a 
party concerned.” 

“A party concerned ! you amaze me !” 

“ Why, yes ; for, as I found our consultation likely to redound 
to his advantage, I persuaded Sir John to send for him.” 

“ Send for him ! — Good God !” 

“ Yes ; and Sir John agreed. I told the servant that if he 
could not hear of his lordship in the house, he might be pretty 
certain of encountering him in the arbour. — Why do you colour, 
my dear ? — Well, he was with us in a moment : I introduced 
him to Sir John ; and we proceeded to business.” 

“ I am very, very sorry for it ! — Lord Orville must himself 
think this conduct strangely precipitate.” 

“ No, my dear, you are mistaken ; Lord Orville has too much 
good sense. Every thing was then discussed in a rational man- 
ner. You are to be married privately, though not secretly, and 
then go to one of his lordship’s country seats : and poor little 
Miss Green, and your brother, who have no house of their own, 
must go to one of Sir John’s.” 

“ But why, my dear madam, why all this haste ? why may we 
not be allowed a little longer time ?” 

“ I could give you a thousand reasons,” answered she, “ but 
that I am tolerably certain two or three will be more you can 
controvert, even with all the logic of genuine coquetry. In the 


K VELINA. 


425 


first place, you doubtless wish to quit the house of Mrs. Beau- 
mont ; to whose, then, can you with such propriety remove as 
to Lord Orville’s ?” 

“ Surely, madam,” cried I, “ I am not more destitute now than 
when I thought myself an orphan.” 

“ Your father, my dear,” answered she, “ is willing to save 
the little impostor as much of the mortification of her disgrace 
as is in his power ; now, if you immediately take her place, ac- 
cording to your right, as Miss Belmont, why, not all that either 
of you can do for her will prevent her being eternally stigma- 
tized as the bantling of Dame Green, washwoman and wet-nurse 
of Berry Hill, Dorsetshire. Now, such a genealogy will not be 
very flattering, even to Mr. Macartney, who, all-dismal as he is, 
you will find by no means wanting in pride and self-consequence.” 

“ For the universe,” interrupted I, “I would not be accessory to 
the degradation you mention ; but surely, madam, I may return 
to Berry Hill ?” 

“ By no means,” said she ; “ for though compassion may make 
us wish to save the poor girl the confusion of an immediate and 
public fall, yet justice demands you should appear henceforward 
in no other light than that of Sir John Belmont’s daughter. Be- 
sides, between friends, I, who know the world, can see that half 
this prodigious delicacy for the little usurper is the mere result 
of self-interest ; for, while her aftairs are hushed up. Sir John’s, 
you know, are kept from being brought further to light. Now 
the double marriage we have projected obviates all rational ob- 
jections. Sir John will give you immediately £30,000 ; all set- 
tlements, and so forth, will be made for you in the name of Eve- 
lina Belmont ; — Mr. Macartney will, at the same time, take poor 
Polly Green ; and yet, at first, it will only be generally known 
that a daughter of Sir John Belmont's is married.” 

In this manner, though she did not convince me, yet the 
quickness of her arguments silenced and perplexed me. I in- 
quired, however, if I might not be permitted again to see my 
father, or whether I must regard myself as banished his presence 
for ever. 


426 


EVELINA. 


“ My dear,” said she, “ he does not know you ; he concludes 
that j’^ou have been brought up to detest him ; and therefore he 
is rather prepared to dread than to love you.” 

This answer made me very unhappy ; I wished, most impa- 
tiently, to remove his prejudice, and endeavour, by dutiful 
assiduity, to engage his kindness; yet know not how to propose 
seeing him, while conscious he wished to avoid me. 

This evening, as soon as the company was engaged with cards, 
Lord Orville exerted his utmost eloquence to reconcile me to 
this hasty plan ; but how was I startled when he told me that 
next Tuesday was the day appointed by my father to be the 
most important of my life ! 

“ Next Tuesday !” repeated I, quite out of breath, “ 0, my 
lord !” 

“ My sweet Evelina,” said he, “ the day which will make me 
the happiest of mortals would probably appear awful to you, 
were it to be deferred a twelvemonth. Mrs. Selwyn has, doubt- 
less, acquainted you with the many motives which, independent 
of my eagerness, require it to be speedy ; suffer, therefore, its 
acceleration, and generously complete my felicity, by endeavour- 
ing to suffer it withcytit repugnance.” 

“ Indeed, my lord, I would not wilfully raise objections, nor 
do I desire to appear insensible of the honour of your good 
opinion ; — but there is something in this plan so very hasty^^ — so 
, unreasonably precipitate ; — besides, I shall have no time to hear 
from Berry Hill ; — and believe me, my lord, I should be for ever 
miserable, were I, in an affair so important, to act without the 
sanction of Mr. Villars’ advice.” 

He offered to wait on you himself : but I told him I had 
rather write to you. And then he proposed, that instead of my 
immediately accompanying him to Lincolnshire, we should first 
pass a month at my native Berry Hill. 

This was, indeed, a grateful proposal to me, and I listened to 
it with undisguised pleasure. And, in short, I was obliged to 
consent to a compromise, in merely deferring the day till Thurs- 
day ! He readily undertook to engage my father’s concurrence 


EVELINA. 


427 


in this little delay ; and I besought him, at the same time, to 
make use of his influence to obtain me a second interview, and to 
represent the deep concern I felt in being thus banished his 
sight. 

He would then have spoken of setilements ; but I assured him 
I was almost ignorant even of the word. 

And now, my dearest sir, what is your opinion of these hasty 
proceedings ? Believe me, I half regret the simple facility with 
which I have suffered myself to be hurried into compliance ; 
and, should you start but the smallest objection, I will yet insist 
upon being allowed more time. 

I must now write a concise account of the state of my affairs 
to Howard Grove and to Madame Duval. 

Adieu, dearest and most honoured sir ! every thing at present 
depends upon your single decision ; to which, though I yield in 
trembling, I yield implicitly. 


LETTER LXXXI. 


Evelina in continuation. 

Oct. 11. 

Yesterday morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Orville 
went to the Hotwells, to wait upon my father with my double 
petition. 

Mrs. Beaumont then, in general terms, proposed a walk in the 
garden. Mrs. Selwyn said she had letters to write ; but Lady 
Louisa rose to accompany her. 

I had some reason to imagine, from the notice with which her 
ladyship had honoured me during breakfast, that her brother 
had acquainted her with my present situation; and her be- 
haviour now confirmed my conjectures ; for, when I would have 
gone up-stairs, instead of suffering me, as usual, to pass dis- 
regarded, she called after me, with an affected surprise, “ Miss 
Anville, don’t you walk with us ?” 

There seemed something so little-minded in this sudden change 
of conduct, that, from an involuntary motion of contempt, I 


428 


EVELINA. 


thanked her with a coldness like her own, and declined her offer 
Yet observing that she blushed extremely at my refusal, and 
recollecting she was sister to Lord Orville, my indignation sub- 
sided ; and, upon Mrs. Beaumont’s repeating' the invitation, I 
accepted it. 

Our walk proved extremely dull : Mrs. Beaumont, who never 
says much, was more silent than usual ; Lady Louisa strove in 
vain to lay aside the restraint and distance she has hitherto pre- 
served ; and as to me, I was too conscious of the circumstance to 
which I owed their attention, to feel either pride or pleasure from 
receiving it. 

Lord Orville was not long absent ; he joined us in the garden 
with a look of gayety and good-humour that revived us all. 
“You are just the party,” said he, “I wished to see together- 
"Will you, madam’^ (taking my hand), “allow me the honour of 
introducing you by your real name to two of my nearest relations ? 
Mrs. Beaumont, give me leave to present to you the daughter of 
Sir John Belmont, a young lady, who, I am sure, must long since 
have engaged your esteem and admiration, though you were a 
stranger to her birth.” 

“My lord,” said Mrs. Beaumont, graciously saluting me, “the 
young lady’s rank in life, your lordship’s recommendation, or her 
own merit would, any one of them, have been suflScient to have 
entitled her to my regard ; and I hope she has always met with 
that respect in my house which is so much her due ; though had 
I been sooner made acquainted with her family, I should doubt- 
less have better known how to have secured it.” 

“Miss Belmont,” said Lord Orville, “can receive no lustre 
from family, whatever she may give to it. Louisa, you will, I am 
sure, be happy to make yourself an interest in the friendship of 
Miss Belmont, whom I hope shortly” (kissing my hand, and join- 
ing it with her ladyship’s) “ to have the happiness of presenting 
to you by yet another name, and by the most endearing of all 
titles.” 

I believe it would be difficult to say whose cheeks were at that 
moment of the deepest dye. Lady Louisa’s or my own ; for the 


EVELINA. 


429 


conscious pride with which she has hitherto slighted me gave to 
her an embarrassment which equalled the confusion that an intro- 
duction so unexpected gave to me. She saluted me, however ; 
and with a faint smile said, “ I shall esteem myself very happy 
to profit by the honour of Miss Belmont’s acquaintance.” 

I only courtesied, and we walked on : but it was evident, from 
the little surprise they expressed, that they had been already in- 
formed of the state of the affair. 

We were soon after joined by more company; and Lord Or- 
ville then, in a low voice, took an opportunity to tell me the success 
of his visit. In the first place, Thursday was agreed to ; and in 
the second, my father, he said, was much concerned to hear of 
my uneasiness : sent me his blessing ; and complied with my 
request of seeing him, with the same readiness he should agree 
to any other I could make. Lord Orville, therefore, settled that 
I should wait upon him in the evening, and at his particular 
request, unaccompanied by Mrs. Selwyn. 

This kind message and the prospect of so soon seeing him gave 
me sensations of mixed pleasure and pain, which wholly occupied 
my mind till the time of my going to the Hotwells. 

Mrs. Beaumont lent me her chariot, and Lord Orville absolutely 
insisted upon attending me. “ If you go alone,” said he, “ Mrs. 
Selwyn will certainly be offended ; but if you allow me to con- 
duct you, though she may give the freer scope to her raillery, she 
cannot possibly be affronted : and we had much better suffer her 
laughter than provoke her satire.” 

Indeed, I must own I had no reason to regret being so accom- 
panied : for his conversation supported my spirits from drooping, 
and made the ride seem so short, that we actually stopped at my 
father’s door before I knew we had proceeded ten yards. 

He handed me from the carriage, and conducted me to the 
parlour at the door of which I was met by Mr. Macartney. “ Ah, 
my dear brother,” cried I, “ how happy am I to see you here !” 

He bowed, and thanked me. Lord Orville, then holding out 
his hand, said, “ Mr. Macartney, I hope we shall be better acquaint- 


430 


EVELINA. 


ed ; I promise myself mucli pleasure from cultivating your friend- 
ship.” 

“ Your lordship does me but too much honour,” answered Mr. 
Macartney. 

“ But where,” cried I, “ is my sister ? for so I must already call 
and always consider her : I am afraid she avoids me : you must 
endeavour, my dear brother, to prepossess her in my favour, and 
reconcile her to meeting me.” 

“ 0 madam,” cried he, “ you are ail goodness and benevo- 
lence ! but at present I hope you will excuse me, for I fear she 
has hardly fortitude sufficient to see you ; in a short time per- 
haps ” 

“ In a very short time, then,” said Lord Orville, “ I hope you 
wdll yourself introduce her, and that we shall have the pleasure 
of wishing you both joy : allow me, iny Evelina, to say we^ and 
permit me, in your name as well as my own, to entreat that the 
first guests we shall have the happiness of receiving may be Mr. 
and Mrs. Macartney.” 

A servant then came to beg I would walk up-stairs. 

1, besought Lord Orville to accompany me ; but he feared the 
displeasure of Sir John, who had desired to see me alone. He 
led me, however, to the foot of the stairs, and made the kindest 
efforts to give me courage : but indeed he did not succeed : for 
the interview appeared to me in all its terrors, and left me no 
feeling but apprehension. 

The moment I reached the landing-place the drawing-room 
door was opened ; and my father, with a voice of kindness, 
called out, “ My child, is it you ?” 

“ Yes, sir,” cried I, springing forward, and kneeling at his 
feet ; “ it is your child, if you will own her !” 

He knelt by my side, and folding me in his arms, “ Own 
thee?” repeated he: “yes, my poor girl, and Heaven knows 
with what bitter contrition !” Then, raising both himself and 
me, he brought me into the drawing-room, shut the door, and 
took me to the window ; where, looking at me with great 
earnestness, “Poor, unhappy Caroline!” cried he; and, to my 


EVELINA. 


431 


inexpressible concern, he burst into tears. Need I tell you, my 
dear sir, how mine flowed at the sight ? 

I would again have embraced his knees ; but, hurrying from 
me, he flung himself upon a sofa, and leaning his face on his 
arms, seemed for some time absorbed in bitterness of grief. 

I ventured not to interrupt a sorrow I so much respected, 
but waited in silence and at a distance, till he recovered from its 
violence. But then it seemed in a moment to give way to a 
kind of frantic fury ; for starting suddenly, with a sternness 
which at once surprised and frightened me, ‘‘ Child,” cried he, 
“ hast thou yet sufficiently humbled thy father ? — if thou hast, 
be contented with this proof of my weakness, and no longer 
force thyself into my presence !” 

Thunderstruck by a command so unexpected, I stood still and 
speechless, and doubted whether my own ears did not deceive me. 

“ O go, go !” cried he, passionately ; “ in pity — in compassion, 
if thou valuest my senses, leave me, — and for ever !” 

“ I will, I will,” cried I, greatly terrified ; and I moved hastily 
towards the door : yet, stopping when I reached it, and almost 
involuntarily dropping on my knees, “Vouchsafe,” cried I, “ 0, 
sir, vouchsafe but once to bless your daughter, and her sight 
shall never more offend you !” 

“Alas,” cried he, in a softened voice, “I am not worthy to 
bless thee ! I am not worthy to call thee daughter! I am not 
worthy that the fair light of heaven should visit my eyes! 
O God ! that I could but call back the time ere thou wast born, 
or else bury its remembrance in eternal oblivion !” 

“ Would to Heaven,” cried I, “ that the sight of me were less 
terrible to you ! that, instead of irritating, 1 could soothe your 
sorrows ! O, sir, how thankfully would I then prove my duty, 
even at the hazard of my life !” 

“ Are you so kind ?” cried he, gently ; “ come hither, child ; 
rise, Evelina. Alas ! it is for me to kneel, not you ; — and I 
would kneel, — I would crawl upon the earth, — I would kiss the 

dust, could I, by such submission, obtain the forgiveness of the 

representative of the most injured of women !” 


432 


EVELINA. 


“ 0 sir,” exclaimed T, “ that you could but read my heart ! — 
that you could but see the filial tenderness and concern with 
which it overflows ! — you would not then talk thus, — ^you would 
not then banish me your presence, and exclude me from your 
affection !” 

“ Good God !” cried he, “ is it then possible that you do not 
hate me ? Can the child of the wronged Caroline look at, and 
not execrate me ? Wast thou not born to abhor, and bred to 
curse me ? Did not thy mother bequeath thee her blessing on 
condition that thou shouldst detest and avoid me ?” 

“ 0 no, no, no !” cried I ; “ think not so unkindly of her, nor 
so hardly of me.” I then took from my pocket-book her last 
letter ; and, pressing it to my lips, with a trembling hand, and 
still upon my knees, I held it out to him. 

Hastily snatching it from me, “ Great Heaven !” cried he, 

* ’tis lier writing. Whence comes this ? who gave it you ? why 
had I it not sooner ?” 

I made no answer ; his vehemence intimidated me, and I 
ventured not to move from the suppliant posture in which I had 
put myself. 

He went from me to the window, where his eyes were for 
some time riveted upon the direction of the letter, though his 
hand shook so violently he could hardly hold it. Then, bringing 
it to me, “ Open it,” cried he, “ for I cannot !” 

I had myself hardly strength to obey him ; but when I had, 
he took it back, and walked hastily up and down the room, as 
if dreading to read it. At length, j;urning to me, “ Do you 
know,” cried he, “its contents ?” 

“No sir,” answered I, “ it has never been unsealed.” 

He then again went to the window, and began reading. 
Having hastily run it over, he cast up his eyes with a look of 
desperation : the letter fell from his hand, and he exclaimed, 
“ Yes ! thou art sainted ! thou art blessed ! — and T am cursed for 
ever!” He continued some time fixed in this melancholy 
position ; after which, casting himself with violence upon the 


EVELINA. 


433 


ground, “0 wretch,” cried he, “unworthy life and light, in what 
dungeon canst thou hide thy head ?” 

I could restrain myself no longer ; I rose and went to him ; I 
did not dare speak ; but, with pity and concern unutterable, I 
wept and hung over him. 

Soon after, starting up, he again seized the letter, exclaiming, 
“Acknowledge thee, Caroline? yes, with mv heart’s best blood 
would I acknowledge thee ! 0, that thou couldst witness the 

agony of my soul ! Ten thousand daggers could not have 
wounded me like this letter !” 

Then, after again reading it, “ Evelina,” he cried, “ she charges 
me to receive thee ! wilt thou, in obedience to her will, receive 
for thy father the destroyer of thy mother ?” 

What a dreadful question! I shuddered, but could not speak. 

“ To clear her fame and receive her child,” continued he, 
looking steadfastly at the letter, “ are the conditions upon wdiich 
she leaves me her forgiveness : her fame I have already cleared ; 
and O, how wdllingly w'ould I take her child to my bosom, fold 
her to my heart,— call upon her to mitigate my anguish, and 
pour the balm of comfort on my wounds, were I not conscious I 
deserve not to receive it, and that all my affliction is the result 
of my own guilt !” 

It was in vain I attempted to speak ; horror and grief took 
from me all power of utterance. 

lie then read aloud from the letter, “ Look not like thy unfor- 
tunate mother! Sweet soul, with what bitterness of spirit hast 
thou written ! Come hither, Evelina : gracious Heaven 1” (look- 
ing earnestly at me) “ never was likeness more striking ! the' eyes, 
the face, the form, O, my child, my child 1” Imagine, sir, for I 
can never describe, my feelings, when I saw him sink upon* his 
knees before me ; “ 0, dear resemblance of thy murdered mother ! 
— O, all that remains of the most injured of women ! behold thy 
father at thy feet 1 bending thus lowly to implore you would 
not hate him. 0, then, thou, representative of my departed 
wife, speak to me in her name, and say that the remorse which 
tears my soul tortures me not in vain !” 

19 


4S4 


EVELINA. 


“0, rise, rise, my beloved father,” cried I, attempting to 
assist him ; “ I cannot bear to see you thus; reverse not the law 
of nature ; rise yourself, and bless your kneeling daughter !” 

“ May Heaven bless thee, my child !” cried he, “ for I dare 
not.” He then rose ; and embracing me most affectionately, 
added, “ I see, I see that thou art all kindness, softness, and 
tenderness ; I need not have feared thee : thou art all the fondest 
father could wish, and Twill try to frame my mind to less painful 
sensations at thy sight. Perhaps the time may come, when I may 
know the comfort of such a daughter ; at present I am only fit to 
be alone ; dreadful as are my reflections, they ought merely to 
torment myself. Adieu, my child ! be not angry, — I cannot stay 
with thee ; O, Evelina ! thy countenance is a dagger to my 
heart ! — just so thy mother looked, — ^just so ” 

Tears and sighs seemed to choke him ; and, waving his hand, 
he would have left me ; but clinging to him, “ 0, sir,” cried I, 
“ will you so soon abandon me ? am I again an orphan ? 0, my 
dear, long lost, father, leave me not, I beseech you ! take pity on 
.your child, and rob her not of the parent she so fondly hoped 
would cherish her !” 

“ You know not what you ask,” cried he ; “the emotions which 
now rend my soul are more than my reason can endure : suffer 
me then to leave you ; impute it not to unkindness, but think of 
me as well as thou canst. Lord Orville has behaved nobly : I 
believe he will make thee happy.” Then again embracing me, 
“ God bless thee, my dear child !” cried he, “ God bless thee, my 
Evelina ! endeavour to love, at least not to hate’ me, and to make 
me an interest in thy filial bosom, by thinking of me as thy 
father.” 

I could not speak ; I kissed both his hand on my knees ; and 
then with yet more emotion, he again blessed me, and hurried 
out of the room, leaving me almost drowned in tears. 

O, sir, all goodness as you are, how much will you feel for 
your Evelina during a scene of such agitation ! I pray Heaven 
to accept the tribute of his remorse, and restore him to tran- 
quillity 1 


EVELINA. 


435 


When I was sufficiently composed to return to the parlour, I 
found Lord Orville waiting for me with the utmost anxiety : and 
then a new scene of emotion, though of a far different nature, 
awaited me ; for I learned by Mr, Macartney, that this noblest 
of men had insisted the so-long-supposed Miss Belmont should be 
considered, indeed^ as my sister, and as the co-heiress of my 
father ; though not in law^ in justice^ he says, she ought ever to 
be treated as the daughter of Sir John Belmont. 

O Lord Orville ! it shall be the sole study of my happy life to 
express, better than by words,*the sense I have of your exalted 
benevolence and greatness of mind ! 


• LETTER LXXXII. 

Evelina in continuation, 

Clifton, October, 12. 

This morning early I received the following letter from Sir 
Clement Willoughby : 


To Miss Anville. 

“ I have this moment received intelligence that preparations 
are actually making for your marriage with Lord Orville. 

“ Imagine not that I write with the imbecile idea of render- 
ing those preparations abortive. No, I am not so mad. My 
sole view is to explain the motive of my conduct in a particulai’ 
instance, and to obviate the accusation of treachery which may 
be laid to my charge. 

“ My unguarded behaviour when I last saw you has probably 
already acquainted you that the letter I then saw you reading 
was written by myself. For your ftirther satisfaction, let me 
have the honour of informing you, that the letter you had 
designed for Lord Orville had fallen into my hands. 

“ However I may have been urged on by a passion the most 
violent that ever warmed the heart of man, I can by no means 
calmly submit to be stigmatized for an action seemingly so dis- 


43G 


EVELINA. 


honourable ; and it is for this reason that I trouble you with this 
justification. 

“ Lord Orville, — the happy Orville, whom you are so ready to 
bless, — had made me believe he loved you not ; nay, that he held 
you in contempt. 

Such were my thoughts of his sentiments of you when I got 
possession of the letter you 'meant to send him. I pretend 
not to vindicate either the means I used to obtain it, or the 
action of breaking the seal ; but I was impelled, by an impetuous 
curiosity, to discover the terras upon which you wrote to him. 

“The letter, however, was wholly .unintelligible to me, and 
the perusal of it only added to my perplexity. 

“ A tame suspense I was not born to endure, and I determined 
to clear my doubts at all hazards and events. 

I answered it therefore in Orville’s name. 

“ The views which I am now going to acknowledge must, 
infallibly, incur your displeasure ; yet I scorn all palliation. 

“ Briefly, then, I conealed your letter to prevent a discovery 
of your capacity ; and I wrote you an answer, which I hoped 
would prevent your wishing for any other. 

“ I am well aware of every thing which can be said upon this 
subject. Lord Orville will possibly think himself ill-used ; but I 
am extremely indifferent as to his opinion ; nor do I now write 
by way of offering any apology to him, but merely to make 
known to yourself the reasons by which I have been governed. ' 

“I intend to set off next week for the Continent. Should his 
lordship have any commands for me in the mean time, I shall be 
glad to receive them. I say not this by way of defiance, — I 
should blush to be suspected of so doing through an indirect chan- 
nel ; but simply that if you show him this letter, he may know I 
dare defend, as well as excuse, my conduct. 

' “ Clement Willoughby.” 

What a strange letter ! how proud and how piqued does its 
writer appear ! To what alternate meanness and rashness do the 
passions lead, when reason and self-denial do not oppose them ! 
Sir Clement is conscious he has acted dishonourably ; yet the . 


EVELINA. 


437 


same unbridled vehemence which urged him to gratify a blame- 
able curiosity will sooner prompt him to risk his life than confess 
his misc.onduct. The rudeness of his manner of writing to me 
springs from the same cause : the proof which he has received of 
my inditference to him has stung him to the soul, and he has 
neither the delicacy nor forbearance to disguise his displeasure. 

I determined not to show this letter to Lord Orville, and 
thought it most prudent to let Sir Clement know I should not. I 
therefore wrote the following note : 

To Sir Clement Willoughby. 

“ Sir : 

“ The letter you have been pleased to address to me is so 
little calculated to afford Lord Orville' any satisfaction, that you 
may depend upon my carefully keeping it from his sight. I will 
bear you no resentment for what is past; but I most earnestly 
entreat, nay, implore, that you will not write again while in your 
present frame of mind, by any channel, direct or indirect. 

“ I hope you will have much pleasure in your promised expe- 
dition, 'and 1 beg leave to assure you of my good wishes.” 

Not knowing by what name to sign, I was obliged to send it 
without any. 

The preparations which Sir Clement mentions go on just as if 
your consent were arrived : it is in vain that I expostulate ; Lord 
Orville says, should any objections be raised, all shall be given up ; 
but that, as his hopes forbid him to expect any, he must proceed 
as if already assured of your concurrence. 

We have had this afternoon a most interesting conversation, 
in which we have traced our sentiments of each other from our 
first acquaintance. I have made him confess how ill he thought 
of me upon my foolish giddiness at Mrs. Stanley’s ball ; but he 
fiatters me with assurances, that every succeeding time he saw 
me I appeared to somewhat less and less disadvantage. 

When I expressed my amazement that he could honour with 
his choice a girl who seemed so infinitely, in every respect, 
beneath his alliance, he frankly owned, that he had fully intended 


438 


EVELINA. 


making more minute inquiries into my family and connections, 
and particularly concerning those 'people he saw with me at Mary- 
bone, before he acknowledged Jiis prepossession in my favour ; 
but th*e suddenness of toy intended journey, and the uncertainty 
of seeing me again, put him quite off his guard; and divesting 
him of prudence, left him nothing but love. These were his 
words ; and yet he* has repeatedly assured me, that his partiality 
has known no bounds from the time of my residing at Clifton. 

¥r * ¥r * * 

Mr. Macartney has just been with me, on an embassy from my 
father. He has sent me his kindest love and assurances of 
favour ; and desired to know if I am happy in the prospect of 
changing my situation, and if there is any thing I can name 
whi(;h he can do for me. And, at the same time, Mr. Macartney 
delivered to me a draft on ray father’s banker for a thousand 
pounds, which he insisted that I should receive entirely for my 
own use, and expend in equipping myself properly for the new 
rank of life to which I seemed destined. 

I arn sure I need not say how much I was penetrated by this 
goodness ; I wrote my thanks, and acknov^edged frankly, that 
if I could see him restored to tranquillity, my heart would be with- 
out a wish. 


LETTER LXXXIII. 

Evelina in continuation. 

Clifton, October 18. 

The time approaches now when I hope we shall meet ; yet I 
cannot sleep; great joy is as restless as sorrow ; and, therefore, I 
will continue my journal. 

As I had never had an opportunity of seeing Bath,* a party 
was formed last night for showing me that celebrated city ; and 
this morning, after breakfast, we set out in three phaetons. Lady 
Louisa and Mrs. Beaumont with Lord Merton, Mr. Coverley, Mr 
Lovel and Mrs. Selwyn, and myself with Lord Orville. 

We had hardly proceeded half a mile, when a gentleman from 
the postchaise, which came galloping after us, called out to the 


EVELINA. 


439 


servants, “ Halloa, ray lads ! pray is one Miss Anville in any of 
them thingemhohsP 

I iraraediately recollected the voice of Captain Mirvan, and 
Lord Orville stopped the phaeton. Ho was out of the chaise and 
with us in a ‘raoraent. “ So, Miss Anville,” cried he, “ how do 
you do ? so I hear you’re Miss Belmont now ; pray how does old 
Madame French do ?” 

“ Madame Duval,” said I, “ is 1 believe, very well.” 

“ I hope she is in good case^'' said he winking significantly, 
“ and won’t flinch at seeing service ; she has laid by long enough 
to refit and be made tight. And pray how does poor Monseer 
Doleful ; is he as lank-jawed as ever ?” 

“ They are neither of them,” said I, “ in Bristol.” 

“ No !” cried he, with a look of disappointment; “ but surely 
the old dowager intends coming to the wedding ; ’twill be a most 
excellent opportunity to show oflf her best Lyons silk. Besides, I 
purpose to dance a new-fashioned jig with her. Don’t you know 
when she’ll come ?” 

“ I have no reason to expect her at all.” 

“No! — ’Fore George, this here’s the worst news I’d wish to 
hear 1 why I’ve thought of nothing all the way but what trick I 
should serve her.” 

“ You have been very obliging,” said I, laughing. 

“ 0, I promise you,” cried he, “ our Moll would never have 
wheedled me into this jaunt, if I’d known she was not here ; for to 
let you into the secret, I fully intended to have treated the old 
buck with another frolic.” 

“ Did Miss Mirvan then, persuade you to this journey ?” 

“ Yes, and we’ve been travelling all night.” 

“ We V' cried I ; “ is Miss Mirvan, then, with you ?” 

“ What, Molly ? yes, she’s in that there chaise.” 

“ Good God, sir, why did not you tell me sooner ?” cried I ; 
and immediately, with Lord Orville’s assistance, I jumped out of 
the phaeton, and ran to the dear girl. Lord Orville opened the 
chaise dpor ; and I am sure I need not tell you what unfeigned 
joy accompanied our meeting. 

We both begged we might not be parted during the ride : and 


440 


EVELINA. 


Lord Orville was so good as to invite Captain Mirvan into his 
phaeton. 

I think I was hardly ever more rejoiced than at this so season- 
able visit from mv dear Maria ; who had no sooner heard tlie 
situation of my affairs than with the assistance of Lady Howard 
and her kind mother, she besought her father with such earnest- 
ness to consent to the journey, that he had not been able to 
withstand their united entreaties ; though she owned, that had he 
not expected to have met with Madame Duval, she believes he 
would not so readily have yielded. They arrived at Mrs. Beau- 
mont's but a few minutes after we were out of sight, and overtook 
us without much difficulty. 

I say nothing of our conversation, because you may so well 
suppose both the subjects we chose and our manner of discussing 
them. 

We all stopped at a great hotel, where we were obliged to 
inquire for a room, as Lady Louisa , to deaths desired to 
take something before we began our rambles. 

As soon as the party was assembled, the captain abruptly salut- 
ing me, said, “ So Miss Belmont, I wish you joy ; so I hear 
youhe quarrelled with your new name already ?” 

“I! — No, indeed sir.” 

“Then please for to tell me the reason you’re in such a hurry 
to change it ?” 

“Miss Belmont!” cried Mr. Lovel, looking, around him with 
the utmost astonishment ; “ I beg pardon ; but, if it is not im- 
pertinent, — I must beg leave to say I always understood that lady’s 
name was Anville.” 

“ ’Fore George,” cried the captain, “ it nms in my head I’ve 
seen you vsomewhere before ! and now I think on’t, pray ain’t you 
the person I saw at the play one night, and who didn’t know 
all the time, whether it was a tragedy or a comedy, or a con- 
cert of fiddlers?” 

“I believe, sir,” said Mr. Lovel, stammering, “ I — had once, — 
1 think, — the pleasure of seeing you last spring.” « 

“Ay, and if I live a hundred springs,” answered he, “ I shall 
never forget it ; by jingo, it has served me for a most excellent 


KVELINA. 


441 


good joke ever since. Well Lowsomever, I’m glad to see you 
still in the land of the living ” (shaking him roughly by the hand). 
“ Pray if a body may be so bold, how much a night may you 
give at present to keep the undertakers aloof?’’ 

“ Me, sir !” said Mr Lovel, very-much discomposed ; “ I protest 
I never thought. myself in such imminent danger as to — really, sir, 
I don’t understand you.” 

“ O, you don’t ! why then I’ll make free for to explain myself. 
Gentlemen, and ladies. I’ll tell you what ; do you know this here 
gentleman, simple as he sits there, pays five shillings a-night to let 
his friends know he’s alive ?” 

“ And very cheap too,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “ if we consider the 
value of the intelligence.” 

Lady Louisa being now refreshed, we proceeded upon our 
expedition. 

The charming city of Bath answ^ered all my expectations. 
The crescent, the prospect from it, and the elegant symmetry of 
the circus delighted me. The parades, I own, rather disappointed 
me; one of them is scarce preferable to’ some of the best paved 
streets in London ; and the other, though it aflbrds a beautiful 
prospect, a charming view of Prior-park and of- the Avon, yet 
wanted something in itself of more striking elegance than a 
mere broad pavement, to satisfy the ideas I had formed of it. 

At the pump-room I was amazed at the public exhibition of the 
ladies in the bath ; it is true, their heads are covered with bon- 
nets ; but the very idea of being seen in such a situation, by who- 
ever pleases to look, is indelicate. 

“’Fore George,” said the captain, looking into the bath, “ this 
would be a most excellent place for old Madame French to dance 
a fandango in ! By jingo, I wouldn’t wish for better sport than 
to swing her round this here .pond !” 

“ She would be very much obliged to you,” said Lord Orville, 
“ for so extraordinary a mark of your favour.” 

“ Why, to let you know,” answered the captain, “she hit my 
fancy mightily ; I never took so much to an old tabby before.” 

“Really, now,” cried Mr. Lovel, looking also into the bath, “I 
■ 19 "^ 


4:42 


EVELINA. 


must confess it is, to me, very incomprehensible why the. ladies 
choose that frightful unbecoming dress to bathe in! I have often 
pondered very seriously upon the subject, but could never hit upon 
the reason.” 

Well, I declare,” said Lady Louisa, “ I should like of all 
things to set something new a-going ; I always- hated bathing, 
because one can get no pretty dress for it? Now do, there’s a 
good creature, try to help me to something.” 

“ Who, me ? — O dear, ma’am,” said he, simpering, “ I can’t 
pretend to assist a person of your ladyship’s taste ; besides, I 
haVe not the least head for fashions — I really don’t think I ever 
invented above three in my life 1 — but I never had the least turn 
for dress, — never any notion of fancy or elegance.” 

“0 fv, Mr. Lovell how can you talk so? — don’t we all know 
that you lead the ton in the heau monde ? I declare, I think you 
dress better than anybody.” 

“ 0, dear ma’am, you confuse me to the last degree I I dress 
well ? — I protest I don’t think I’m ever fit to be seen ! — I’m often 
shocked to death to think what a figure I go. If your ladyship 
will believe me, I was full half an hour this morning thinking 
what I should put on !” 

“ Odds my life,” cried the captain, “ I wish I’d been near you 1 
— I warrant I’d have quickened your motions a little. Half an 
hour thinking what you’d put on 1 and who the deuce do you think 
cares the snuflf of a candle whether you’ve any thing on or not ?” 

“ 0 pray, captain,” cried Mrs. Selwyn, “ don’t be angry with 
the gentleman for thinking^ whatever be the cause, for I assure 
you he makes no common practice of offending in that way.” 

“Really, ma’am, you’re prodigiously kind,” said Mr. Lovel, 
angrily. 

“ Pray, now,” said the captain, “ did you ever get a ducking in 
that there place yourself ?” 

“ A ducking, sir !” repeated Mr. Lovel : “ I protest I think 
that’s rather an odd term 1 — but if you mean a bathing, it is an 
honour I have had many times.” 

“ And pray, if a body may be so bold, wl^t do you do with 
that frizzle-frize top of your own ? Why, I’ll lay you what yoif 


EVELINA. 


443 


will, there is fat and grease enough on your crown to buoy you 
up, if you were to go in head downwards.” 

. “ And I don’t know,” cried Mrs. Selwyn, “ but that might be 

the easiest way : for I’m sure it would be the lightest.” 

“ For the matter of that there,” said the captain, “ you must 
make him a soldier before you can tell which is lightest, head or 
heels. Howsomever, I’d lay ten pounds to a shilling I could 
whisk him so dexterously over into the pool, that he should light 
plump upon his foretop, and turn round like a tetotum.” 

“ Done !” cried Lord Merton ; “ I take your odds.” 

Will you !” returned he ; “ why, then, ’fore George, I’d do it 
as soon as say Jack Robinson.” 

“ He, he !” faintly laughed Mr. Lovel, as he moved abruptly 
from the window ; “ ’pon honour, this is pleasant enough : but 
I don’t see what right anybody has to lay wagers about one 
without one’s consent.” 

“There, Lovel, you are out,” cried Mr. Coverly; “any man 
may lay what wager about you he will ; your consent is nothing 
to the purpose : he -may lay that your nose is a sky-blue if he 
pleases.” 

“ Ay,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “ or that your mind is more adorned 
than your person ; or any absurdity whatsoever.” 

“ I protest,” said Mr. Lovel, “ I think it's a very disagreeable 
privilege, and I must beg that Nobody may take such a liberty 
with mer 

“ Like enough you may,” cried the captain, “ but what’s that 
to the purpose ? Suppose I’ve a mind to lay that you’ve never 
a tooth in your head — pray, how will you hinder me ?” 

“ You’ll allow me, at least, sir, to take the liberty of asking 
how you’ll 'prove it ?” 

“IIow? — why, by knocking them all down your throat.” 

“Knocking them all down my throat, sir!” repeated Mr. Lovel, 
with a look of horror. “ I protest I never heard any thing so 
shocking in my life ! And I must beg leave to observe, that no 
wager in my opinion, could justify such a barbarous action.” 

Here Lord Orville interfered, and hurried us to our carriages, 
returned in the same order we came. Mrs. Beaunaont 


EVELINA. 


444 : 

invited all the party to dinner, and has been so obliging as to 
beg Miss Mirvan may continue at her house during her stay. 
The captain will lodge at the wells. 

The first half-hour after our return was devoted to hearing Mr. 
Level’s apologies for dining in his riding dress. 

Mrs. Beaumont' then, addressing herself to Miss Mirvan and 
me, inquired how we liked Bath. 

“ I hope,” said Mr. Lovel, “ the ladies do not call this seeing 
Bath.” 

“ No ! — what should ail ’em ?” cried the captain : “ do you 
suppose they put their eyes in their pockets ?” 

“No, sir; but I fancy you will find no person — that is, no 
person of any condition — call going about a few places in a 
morning, seeing Bath'' 

“Mayhap, then,” said the literal captain, “you think we 
should see it better by going about at midnight ?” 

“No, sir, no,” said Mr. Lovel, with a supercilious smile, “I 
perceive you don’t understand me ; — we should never call it see- 
ing Bath without going at the right season.” 

“ Why, what a plague, then,” demanded he, “ can you only 
see at one season of the year?” 

Mr. Lovel again smiled; but seemed superior to making 
any answer. 

“ The Bath amusements,” said Lord Orville, “ have a sameness 
in them, which, after a short time, renders them rather insipid ; 
but the greatest objection that can be made to the place is 
the encouragement it gives to gamesters.” 

“ Why, I hope, my lord, you would not think of abolishing 
gaming^' cried Lord Merton ; “ ’tis the very zest of life ! Devil 
take me if I could live without it.” 

“ I am sorry for it,” said Lord Orville, gravely, and looking at 
Lady Louisa. 

. “ Your lordship is no judge of this subject,” continued the 
other ; “ but if once we could get you to a gaming-table, you’d 
never be happy away from it.” 

“ I hope, my lord,” cried Lady Louisa, “ that nobody here ever 
occasions your quitting it.” 


EVELINA. 


445 


“ Your ladyship,” said Lord Merton, recollecting himself, “ has 
powei‘ to make me quit any thing.” 

“Except herself^'' said Mr. Coverley. “Egad, my lord, I 
think I’ve helped you out there !” 

“ You men of wit. Jack,” answered his lordship, “ are always 
ready ; — for my part, I don’t pretend to any talents that way.” 

“ Really, my lord ?” asked the sarcastic Mrs. Selwyn, “ well, 
that is wonderful, considering success would be so much in your 
power.” 

“Pray, ma’am,” said Mr. Lovel to Lady Louisa, “has your 
ladyship heard the news ?” 

“News ! — what news ?” 

“ Why, the report circulating at the Wells .concerning a certain 
person.” 

“ O lord, no : pray tell me what it is ?” 

“ O no, ma’am, I beg your la’ship will excuse me ; ’tis a profound 
secret, and I would not have mentioned it if I had not thought 
you knew it.” 

“ Lord, now, how can you be so monstrous ? I declare, now, 
you’re a provoking creature ! But come, I know you’ll tell me; 
^ — won’t you now ?” 

“Your la’ship knows I’m but too happy to obey you; but, 
’pon honour, I can’t speak a word if you won’t all promise 
me the most inviolable secrecy.” 

“ I wish you’d wait for that from me,” said the captain, “ and 
ni give you* my word you’d be dumb for one while. Secrecy, 
quotha! — ’Fore George, I wonder you ain’t ashamed to men- 
tion such a word when you talk of telling it to a woman. 
Though, for the matter of that. I’d as lief blab it to the whole 
sex at once as to go for to tell it to such a thing as you.” 

“ Such a thing as me, sir 1” said Mr. Lovel, letting fall his 
knife and fork, and looking very important ; “ I really have not 
the honour, to understand your expression.” 

“It’s all one for that,” said the captain; “you may have it 
explained whenever you like it.” 

“ ’Pon honour, sir,” returned Mr. Lovel, “ I must take the 
liberty to tell you, that I should be extremely offended, but that 


446 


EVELINA. 


I suppose it to be some sea-phrase ; and therefore I’ll let it pass 
without further notice.”' 

Lord Orville, then, to change the discourse, asked Miss Mirvan 
if she should spend the ensuing winter in London. 

“No, to be sure,” said the captain; “what should she for? 
she saw all that was to be seen before.” 

“ Is London, then,” said Mr. Lovel, smiling at Lady Louisa, 
“ only to be regarded as a sight?''' 

“ Why, pray, Mr. Wiseacre, how are you pleased for to regard 
it yourself? — Answer me to that.” • 

. “0 sir, my opinion, I fancy, you would hardly find intelligible. 
I don’t understand sea-phrases enough to define it to your com- 
prehension. Does not your la’ship think the task would be 
rather difficult?” 

“ 0 Lord, yes,” cried Lady Louisa ; “ I declare I’d as soon 
teach my parrot to talk Welsh.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha ! admirable ! — ^’Pon honour, your la’ship’s quite 
in luck to-day ; but that, indeed,* your la’ship is every day. 
Though, to be sure, it is but candid to ackfiowlodge, that the 
gentlemen of the ocean have a set of ideas, as well as a dialect, 
so opposite to ours, that it is by no means surprising they should 
regard London as a mere show, that may be seen by being 
looked at. Ha ! ha I ha !” 

“ Ha ! ha !” echoed Lady Louisa : “ well, I declare you are the 
drollest creature.” 

“ He ! he ! ’pon honour, I can’t help laughing at the conceit of 
seeing London in a few weeks !” 

“ And what a plague should hinder you ?” cried the captain ; 
“ do you want to spend a day in every street ?” 

Here again Lady Louisa and Mr. Lovel interchanged smiles. 

“ Why, I warrant you, if I had the showing it, Pd haul you 
from St. James’s to Wappping the very first morning.” 

The smiles were now, with added contempt, repeated ; which 
the captain observing, looked very fiercely at Mr. Lovel, and 
said, “ Hark’ee, my spark, none of your grinning 1 — Tis a lingo I 
don’t understand ; and if you give me any more of it, I shall go 
near to lend you a box o’ the ear.” 


EVELINA. 


m 

“ I protest, sir,” said Mr. Lovel, turning extremely pale, “ I 
think, it’s taking a very particular liberty, with a person to talk 
to one in such a style as this 1” 

“ It’s like you may,” returned the captain : “ but give a good 
gulp, and I’ll warrant you’ll swallow it.” Then, calling for a 
glass of ale, with a very provoking and significant nod, he drank 
to his easy digestion. 

Mr. Lovel made no answer, but looked extremely sullen ; and 
soon after w^e left the gentlemen to themselves. 

I had then two letters delivered to me ; one from Lady 
Howard and Mrs, Mirvan, which contained the kindest congratu- 
lations ; and the other from Madame Duval ? — but not a word 
from yon, — to my no small surprise and concern. 

Madame Duval seems greatly rejoiced at my late intelligence ; 
a violent cold, she says, prevents her coming to Bristol. The 
Branghtons, she tells me, are all well ; Miss Polly is soon to be 
married to Mr. Brown ; but Mr. Smith has changed his lodgings, 
which, she adds, has made the house extremely dull. “ How- 
ever, that’s not the worst news ; Pardi^ I wish it was ! but I’ve 
been used like nobody, — for Monsieur du Bois has had the base- 
.ness to go back to France without me.” In conclusion, she 
assures me, as you prognosticated she would, that I shall be sole 
heiress of all she is worth when Lady Orville. 

At tea-time we were joined by all the gentlemen but Captain 
Mirvan, who went to the hotel where he was to sleep, and made 
his daughter accompany him, to separate her trumpery, as he 
called it, from his clothes. 

■ As soon as they were gone, Mr. Lovel, who still appeared 
extremely sulky, said, “ I protest I never saw such a vulgar, abu- 
sive fellow in my life as that captain : ’pon honour, I believe he 
came here for no purpose in the world but to pick a quarrel : 
however, for my part, I vow I won’t humour him.” 

“I declare,” cried Lady Louisa, “he put me in a monstrous 
fright;— I never heard anybody talk so shocking in my life !” 

“I think,” said Mrs. Selwyn, with great solemnity, “he 
threatened to box my ears, Mr. Lovel ; — did not he ?” 

“Really, ma’am,” said Mr. Lovel, colouring, “if one was to 


448 


EVELUTA. 


mind every thing those low kind of people say, one should never 
be at rest for one impertinence or otlier ; so I think the best way 
is to be above taking any notice of them.” 

“What,” said Mrs. Selwyn, with the same gravity, “ and so 
receive the blow in silence ?” 

During this discourse, I heard the captain’s chaise stop at the 
door, and ran down-stairs to meet^laria. She w'as alone, and 
told me that her father, who, she was sure, had some scheme in 
agitation against Mr. Lovel, had sent her on before him. We 
continued in the parlour till his return, and were joined by Lord 
Orville, who begged me not to insist on a patience so unnatural 
as submitting to be excluded our society. And let me, my dear 
sir, with a grateful heart let me own, I never before passed half 
an hour in such perfect felicity. 

I believe we were all sorry when the captain returned ; yet his 
inward satisfaction, from however different a cause, did not seem 
inferior to what ours had been. He chucked Maria under the 
chin, rubbed his hands, and was scarce able to contain the ful- 
ness of his glee. We all attended him to the drawing-room ; 
where, having composed his countenance, without any previous 
attention to Mrs, Beaumont, he marched up to Mr. Lovel, 
and abruptly said, “Pray, have you e’er a brother in these here 
parts ?” 

“Me, sir? No, thank heaven, I’m free from all encumbrances 
of that sort.” 

“ Well,” cried the captain, “ I met a person just now so like 
you, I could have sworn he had been your twin-brother.” 

“ It would have been a most singular pleasure to me,” said Mr. 
Lovel, “ if I also could have seen him ; for really, I haye not the 
least notion what sort of person I am, and I have a prodigious 
curiosity to know.” 

Just then the captain’s servant, opening the door, said, “ A 
little gentleman below desires to see one Mr. Lovel.” 

“ Beg him to walk up-stairs,” said Mrs. Beaumont. “ But 
pray, what is the reason William is out of the way ?” 

The man shut the door without any answer. 

“ I can’t imafrine who it is,” said Mr. Lovel : “ I recollect no 


EVELINA. 


449 


little gentleman of ray acquaintance now at Bristol, — except 
indeed the Marquis of Charlton ; — but I don’t much fancy it can 
be him. Let me see, who else is there so very little ?” 

A confused noise among the servants now* drew all eyes 
towards the door : the impatient captain hastened to open it : 
and then, clapping his hands, called out, “ ’Fore George, ’tis the 
same person I took for your relation.” 

And then, to the utter astonishment of everybody but himself, 
be hauled into the room a monkey, full dressed, and extrava- 
gantly a la mode! 

The dismay of the company was almost general. Poor Mr. 
Lovel seemed thunderstruck with indignation and surprise : Lady 
Louisa began to scream, which for some time was incessant; 
Miss Mirvan and I jumped involuntarily upon the seats of our 
chairs ; Mi's. Beaumont . herself followed our example ; Lord 
Orville placed, himself before me as a guard ; and Mrs. Selwyn, 
Lord Merton, and Mr. Coverley burst into a loud, immoderate, 
ungoverable fit of laughter, in which they were joined by the 
captain, till, unable to support himself, he rolled on the floor. 

The first voice which made its way through this general noise 
was that of Lady Louisa, which her fright and screaming ren- 
dered extremely shrill. “Take it. away!” cried she, “take the 
monster away ; — I shall faint, I shall faint if you don’t!” 

Mr. Lovel, irritated beyond endurance, angrily demanded of the 
captain what he meant. 

“ Mean ?” cried the captain, as soon as he was able to speak ; 
“ why only to show you in your proper colours.” Then, rising 
and pointing to the monkey, “ Why now, ladies and gentleman. 
I’ll be judged by you all ! — Did you every see any thing more 
like \ — Odds my life, if it wasn’t for this here tail, you wouldn’t 
know one from t’other.” 

“ Sir,” cried Mr. Lovel, stamping, “I shall take a time to make 
you feel my wrath.” 

“ Come now,” continued the reprdless captain, “just for the 
fun’s sake, doff your coat and waistcoat, and swop with Monsieur 
Grinagain here ; and I’ll warrant you’ll not know yourself which 
is which.” 


450 


EVELINA. 


“ ITot know myself from a monkey ! — I assure you, sir, I’m 
not to be used in this manner, and I won’t bear it — curse me if 
I will !” 

“ Why, hey-day !” cried the captain, “ what, is master in a 
passion ? — Well, don’t be angry : come he sha’n’t hurt you : — 
here, shake a paw with him : — why, he’ll do you no harm, man I 
— come, kiss and be friends !” 

“ Who, I ?” cried Mr. Lovel, almost mad with vexation ; “ as 
I’m a living creature, I would not touch him for a thousand 
worlds !” 

“ Send him a challenge,” cried Mr. Coverley, “ and I’ll be your 
second.” 

“ Ah, do,” said the captain, “ and I’ll be second to my friend 
Monsieur Clapperclaw here. Come, to it at once — tooth and nail !” 

“ God forbid !” cried Mr. Lovel, retreating ; “ I would sooner 
trust my person with a mad bull !” 

“ I don’t like the looks of him myself,” said Lord Merton, “ for 
he grins most horribly.” 

“ 0, I’m frightened out of my senses !” cried Lady Louisa , 
“ take him away, or I shall die !” 

“ Captain,” said Lord Orville, “ the ladies are alarmed ; and I 
must beg you would send the monkey away.” 

“ Why, where can be the mighty harm of one monkey more 
than another ?” answered the captain : “ howsomever, if it’s 
agreeable to the ladies, suppose we turn them out together ?” 

“ What do you mean by that, sir ?” cried Mr. Lovel, lifting up 
his cane. 

“What do you mean?” cried the captain, fiercely: “be so 
good as to down with your cane.” 

Poor Mr. Lovel, too much intimidated to stand his ground, 
yet too much in rage to submit, turned hastily round, and forget- 
ful of consequences, vented his passion-by giving a furious blow 
to the monkey. 

The creature, darting forwards, sprung instantly upon him : 
and clinging round his neckj fastened his teeth to one of his ears. 

I was really sorry for the poor man ; who though an egregious 
fop, had committed no ofience that merited such chastisement. 


EVELINA. 


451 


It was impossible now to distinguish whose screams were 
loudest, those of Mr. Lovel or of the terrified Lady Louisa, who, 
I believe, thought her own turn was approaching : but the unre- 
lenting captain roared with joy. 

Not so Lord Orville; ever humane, generous, and benevolent, 
he quitted his charge, who he saw was wholly out of danger, 
and seizing the monkey by the collar, made him loosen the ear ; 
and then, with a sudden swing, flung him out of the room, and 
shut the door. 

Poor Mr. Lovel, almost fainting with terror, sunk upon the 
floor, crying out, “ 0, I shall die, I shall die, — O, I’m bit to 
death !” 

“ Captain 3Iirvan,” said Mrs. Beaumont, with no little indigna- 
tion, “ I must own I don’t perceive the wit of this action ; and I 
am sorry to have such cruelty practised in my house.” 

“ Why Lord, ma’am,” said the captain, when his rapture abated 
sufficiently for speech, “how could I tell they’d fiill out so? — By 
* jingo, I brought him to be a messmate for t’other.” 

“ Egad,” said Mr. Coverley, “ I would not have been served so 
for a thousand pounds.” 

“ Why, then, there’s the odds of it,” said the captain ; “ for 
you see he is served so for nothing. . But come,” turning to Mr. 
Lovel, “ be of good heart ; all may end well yet, and you and 
Monseer Longtail be as good friends as ever.” 

“ I’m surprised, Mrs. Beaumont,” cried Mr. Lovel, starting up, 
“ that you can suffer a person under your roof to be treated so 
inhumanly.” 

“What argufies so many words ?” said the unfeeling captain ; 
“ it is but a slit of the ear ; it only looks as if you had been in 
the pillory.” 

“ Very true,” added Mrs. Selwyn ; “ and who knows but it 
may acquire you the credit of being an antiministerial writer?” 

“ I protest,” cried Mr. Lovel, looking ruefully at his dress, 
“ my new riding suit’s all over blood !” 

“ Ila, ha, ha !” cried the captain, “ see what comes of studying 
for an hour what you shall put on !” 

Mr. Lovel then walked to the glass ; and looking at the place, 


452 


EVELINA. 


exclaimed, “ 0 Heaven, what a monstrous wound ! my ear will 
never be fit to be seen again !” 

“ Why, then,” said the captain, “ you must hide It ; — ’tis but 
wearinor a wig.” 

o o 

“ A wig !” repeated the afirighted Mr. Lovel ; “ I wear a wig ! 
— No, not if you would give me a thousand pounds an hour.” 

“ I declare,” said Lady Louisa, “ I never heard such a shocking 
proposal in my life !” 

Lord Orville then seeing no prospect that the altercation 
would cease, proposed to the captain to walk. He assented ; 
and having given Mr, Lovel a nod of exultation, accompanied his 
lordship down-stairs. 

“Ton honour,” said Mr. Lovel, the moment the door was 
shut, that fellow is the greatest brute in nature 1 he ought not to 
be admitted into a civilized society.” 

“ Lovel,” said Mr. Coverley, afiecting to whisper, “you must 
certainly pink him ; you must not put up with such an affront.” 

“Sir,” said Mr. Lovel, “ with any common person I should not 
deliberate an instant; but really, with a fellow who has done* 
nothing but fight all his'life, ’pon honour, sir, I can’t think of 
it !” 

“ Lovel,” said Lord Merton, in the same voice, “you must call;^ 
him to account.” 

“Every man,” Said he, pettishly, “is the best judge of his 
own affairs ; and I don’t ask the honour of any person’s advice.” 

“ Egad, Lovel,” said Mr. Coverley, “ you’re in for it ! — you 
can’t possibly be off !” 

“ Sir,” cried he, very impatiently, “ upon any proper occasion, 

I should be as ready to show my courage as anybody ; — but as 
to fighting for such a trifle as this, I protest I should blush to 
think of it!” 

“ A trifle I” cried Mrs. Selwyn ; “ good Heaven 1 and have you 
made this astonishing riot about a trifle 

“ Ma’am,” answered the poor wretch, in great confusion, “ I 
did not know, at first, but that my cheek might have been bit ; 
but as ’tis no worse, why, it does not a great deal signify. Mrs. 
Beaumont, I have the honour to wish you a good evening ; I’m 


EVELINA. 


463 


sure ray carriage must be waiting.” And then, very abruptly, be 
left the room. 

What a commotion has this mischief-loving captain raised ! 
Were I to remain here long, even the society of my dear Maria 
could scarce compensate for the disturbances which he excites. 

When he returned, and heard of the quiet exit of Mr. Level, 
his triumph was intolerable. “ I think, 1 Ihink,” cried he, “ I 
haa'e peppered him well ! I’ll warrant he won’t give an hour to- 
morrow morning to settling what he shall put on ; why his coat” 
(turning to me) “ would be'a most excellent match for old Ma- 
dame Furbelow’s best Lyons silk! ’Fore George, I’d desire no 
, better sport than to have that there old cat here to go her 
snacks !” 

All the company then. Lord Orville, Miss Mirvan, and myself 
excepted, played at cards, and we — 0, how much better did we 
pass our time 1 

While we were engaged in a most delightful conversation, a 
servant brought me a letter, which he told me had by some ac- 
cident been mislaid. Judge of my feelings when I saw, my dear- 
est sir, your revered hand-writing! My emotions soon betrayed 
to Lord Orville whom the letter was from : the importance 
of the contents he well 'knew ; and, assuring me I should not be 
seen by the card-players, he besought me to open it without de- 
lay. 

Open it, indeed, I did — but read it I could not ; — the willing 
yet awful consent you have granted — the tenderness of your ex- 
pressions — the certainty that no obstacle remained to my eternal 
union with the loved owner of my heart, gave me sensations too 
various, and, though joyful, too little placid for observation. 
Finding myself unable to proceed, and blinded by the tears of 
gratitude and delight which started into my eyes, I gave over the 
attempt of reading till I retired to my own room ; and, having 
no voice to answer the inquiries of Lord Orville, I put the letter 
into his hands, and left it to speak both for me and itself. 

Lord Orville was himself affected by your kindness ; he kissed 
the letter as he returned it ; and pressing my hand affectionately 
to his heart, “ You are now,” said he, in a low voice, “ all my 


454 


EVELINA. 


own ; 0, my Evelina, how will my soul find room for its happi- 
ness ! — it seems already bursting !’' I could make no reply, in- 
deed I hardly spoke another word, the rest of the evening, so lit- 
tle talkative is the fulln'ess of contentment. 

O, my dearest sir, the thankfulness of my heart I must pour 
forth at our meeting, when, at your feet,- my happiness receives 
its confirmation from your blessing; and when my noble-minded, 
and my beloved Lord Orville presents to you the highly honoured 
and thrice-happy Evelina. 

A few lines I will endeavour to write on Thursday, which 
shall be sent off express, to give you, should nothing intervene, 
yet more certain assurance of our meeting. 

Now, then, therefore, for the first and probably the last time 
I shall ever own the name, permit me to sign myself. 

Most dear sir. 

Your gratefully affectionate 

Evelina Belmont. 

P. S. — Lady Louisa, at her own particular desire, will be pre- 
sent at the ceremony, as well as Miss Mirvan and Mrs. Selwyn : 
Mr. Macartney will, the same morning, be united to my foster-sis- 
ter ; and my father himself will -give us both away. 


LETTER LXXXIV. 

Mr. Villars to Evelina, 

Every wish of my soul is now fulfilled— for the felicity of my 
Evelina is equal to her worthiness ! 

Yes, my child, thy happiness is engraved in golden characters 
upon the tablets of my heart; and their impression is indelible; 
for, should the rude and deep-searching hand of misfortune 
attempt to pluck them from their repository, the fleeting fabric 
of life would give way; and in tearing from my vitals the nour- 
ishment by which they are supported, she would but grasp at a 
shadow insensible to her touch. 


EVELINA. 


455 


Give thee my consent ? 0 thou joy, comfort, and pride of my 

life, how cold is that word to express the fervency of my appro- 
bation ! yes, I do indeed give thee my consent ; and so thankfully, 
that, with the humblest gratitude to Providence, I would seal it 
with the remnant of my days. 

Hasten then my, love, to bless me with thy presence, and to 
receive the blessings with which my fond heart overflows! And 
O, ray Evelina, hear and assist in one only humble but ardent 
prayer which yet animates my devotions : — That the height of 
bliss to which thou art rising may not render thee giddy, but that 
the purity of thy mind may form the brightest splendour of thy 
prosperity ! and that the weak and aged frame of thy almost idoliz- 
ing parent, nearly worn out by time, past aflflictions, and mfirmities, 
may yet be able to sustain a meeting with all its better part holds 
dear ; and then, that all the wounds which the former severity of 
fortune inflicted may be healed and purified by the ultimate con- 
solation of pouring forth my dying words in blessings on my 
child ! closing these joy-streaming eyes in her presence, and 
breathing my last faint sighs in her loved arms I 

Grieve not, 0 child of my care ! grieve not at the inevitable 
moment! but may thy own end be equally propitious ! O mayst 
thou, when full of days, and full of honour, sink down as gently 
to rest ! be loved as kindly, watched as tenderly, as thy happy 
father ! And mayest thou, when thy glass is run, be sweetly, but 
not bitterly, mourned, by some remaining darling of thy afiections 
— some yet surviving Evelina ! 


Arthur Villars. 


456 


EVELINA. 


LETTER LXXXV. 
Ecelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 



All is over, my dearest sir ; and the fate of your Evelina is 
decided ! This morning, with fearful joy and trembling gratitude, 
she united herself forever with the object of her dearest and eter- 
nal affection. 

I have time for no more ; the chaise now waits which is to con- 
duct me to dear Berry Hill, and to the arms of the best of men. 

- Evelina. 




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